Just Another Clone
by Sabari
Summary: The story of Just Another Clone. Non-slash/non-pairing. Probably AU?. Rated T primarily for language.
1. Part 1: The Desert 1

"_Let's have faith that right makes might; and in that faith let us,__to the end, dare to do our duty as we understand it."_

_-Abraham Lincoln_

* * *

The Clone stood on the crest of a red sand dune. He could have been doing anything, looking for anything. The calm, deliberate efficiency with which clones conducted their business was often over-looked, mainly because they did a textbook job of things. A little more or less experience might change their strategy, but had little effect on their work ethic as a rule. This clone was little different from any other, and what he was doing was far from unusual. In the grand scheme of things, it was the self-same thing all clones spent all their time doing. Surviving.

Barring orders to the contrary, it was the exact same thing every other clone in the Galaxy was doing. How they went about it varied with circumstance, and this particular clone's circumstances were rather dire. The desert planet spread all about him, appearing devoid of life. Two suns hung hot overhead, a third had just set. The coming night would be a short one.

Looking all around, The Clone was still unable to see anything resembling any kind of shelter. He checked his canteen for the third or fourth time, just to make good and sure it was as useless as he had first supposed. There was a hole right through it, and no water remained in it. He sighed.

Bleakly, he turned back the way he'd come, sliding down from the dune somewhat awkwardly, courtesy of a piece of torn metal from the fallen ship lodged just above his right knee. He limped past the bodies of clones less fortunate than he, ones who had been crushed by the ship when it landed, or thrown from it while it was still high in the air. The Clone was the only of his kind to survive this crash.

There had been a Jedi with them, who was still alive but unconscious, very probably dying. There wasn't anything he could do, not really. He'd tried to stifle the bleeding, but that was about the best he could do. Out of all the pieces of equipment he carried on his person, his med kit was the smallest.

The radio wasn't working, probably something about the sand, something in it. He'd already checked the bodies of his comrades. Their equipment was, for the most part, destroyed, missing or already used. It could be a long time between resupply runs, and they had to make whatever they were given last. Such was the lot of ground troops. Although, this was not exactly where they were intended to have been deployed. Best The Clone could figure, their intended destination was a good forty miles Northeast of here, if not more.

They'd been shot out of the air by a fighter on the way. Just one of many ships. Chances were they wouldn't be missed. There was some consolation in thinking their absence wouldn't make much difference in the outcome of the battle. Small consolation. The clones were, of course, expendable. That's what made them such useful soldiers. The Jedi, on the other hand, were too few in number to afford losing even one.

The Clone had his mission, even without verbal orders. This Jedi was going to survive. He had to get them some help, and to safety. Assuming either one could be found somewhere in this place. He had no reason to go anywhere but towards the battlefield. Doubtless the battle would be over, and the field likely even abandoned, by the time he got there. He wouldn't be able to travel swiftly with his leg as it was. Knowing this, it was only logical to take the Jedi with him. No sense leaving them here to die. Maybe he'd find water along the way. Now that was just wishful thinking.

The next order of business was to get the metal fragment out of his leg. He wouldn't have bothered, but he knew he couldn't get far if he didn't do something about it. Besides, night was fast approaching, and maybe it would be a little cooler then. Maybe.

He knew better than to just pull the fragment out. If he wasn't careful, he'd do more harm than good. He couldn't afford to damage himself further, the price being potential loss of a valuable Jedi.

Being a clone, he had long resigned himself to his own fate. Chances were, he was going to die. That's what clones were for. To fight, and to eventually die. It was the reason they existed. But experience had taught him that a clone shouldn't be too quick to let himself fall. Living to fight another day could be more valuable than sacrificing his life. It all depended on the circumstances. Being what they were right now, there was no sense in him increasing the likelihood of his own demise.

After tending to his wound, The Clone set about making some kind of sled so he could pull the Jedi along with him. While it was true that he could carry them, or just drag them by a limb, that was far from the easiest, or most practical, method of transport.

He found a piece of wing which was nearly sheered off that looked to be about the right size, and set to work prying it the rest of the way loose. It was dark by the time he'd accomplished this and created a makeshift harness from a collection of wires and cables which had formerly composed the ship's innards. As gently as he could, The Clone moved the still unconscious Jedi from the ground to the sled, using more cable to secure them to it.

Exhausted by his efforts, The Clone had to rest for a time before he was ready to travel. He could have used some water too, but there wasn't any of that around for miles, so he did without. As he was about to set off, he realized the Jedi's light-saber had fallen to the ground. He picked it up and set it on the sled near the Jedi, hoping it would stay there. Quite frankly, he didn't want to touch it again.

He had an almost instinctive aversion to light-sabers. He couldn't make use of them, they belonged in the hands of Jedi. In his world, Jedi were superior to him and all his kind, and he had absolutely no business handling anything which belonged to a Jedi, least of all a light-saber.

The Clone's direction was chosen by the last readouts from the ship before it died. He could only hope they were accurate. If not, he doubted if they could get into worse trouble. The only thing was that it might be wiser to stay by the ship than to wander off. Someone would be looking for the Jedi. But he feared that they didn't have enough time for a search party. If they were still out in the open when the first sun rose in the morning, their deaths were virtually assured. The Clone had already felt the deadly heat of the day once, and he felt sure that another day of that would kill him and the Jedi both, especially with no water or shade.

Progress was slow and painful. Aside from his leg, The Clone had also suffered injuries beneath the surface, whose extent he did not know. The relentless up and down of the dunes didn't help either. When he could, he traveled along the top ridges, where the night wind made it cooler and the level ground made walking easier. But that wasn't always an option. He couldn't drift too far off course, or risk getting lost altogether, or at least taking himself so far out of his way that he'd never make it.

More than once during the short night, The Clone had to stop. His injured ribs rendered him continually breathless, unable to inhale properly. He deemed it best not to think about it, instead focusing on his objective. It was like locking on a target. Just keep on it, nothing else mattered until the target was eliminated. Or, in this case, the objective was achieved.

Dawn slowly turned the ashen, colorless world to a fiery red, and The Clone could feel the heat that was soon to follow. He knew that they had to find shelter. He left the sled in the temporary shade of a dune, and climbed to the top to look for some rocks, or a cave, or anything which might provide cover from the blistering rays of the oncoming suns.

There seemed nothing but sand, sand, and more sand. But as the first sun rose higher, The Clone spotted something in the distance with his binoculars. It might have been nothing, but it sure seemed to be something to him. It was all he had to go on.

He went and got the sled, then adjusted his course slightly, making a moderately straight march towards the distant blob of darkness which suggested a rock pile. A pile of rocks wouldn't seem like much to anyone else, but to the exhausted clone, it was everything. Shade was the difference between no chance of survival, and a slim possibility of it. And that was all he needed to keep going. Some chance was better than none at all.

The next time The Clone had to stop and rest, he arranged the Jedi's cloak to protect the Jedi's face and body from the sun as much as possible. He was half-tempted to take off his own armor, as it felt like he was baking inside it, but he knew better than that. It afforded him a small amount of protection from the sun, and from the heat, whether it felt like it or not. It was worth the extra weight. He knew that, but he couldn't manage to feel it right now.

The sun crept higher in the sky. It was getting hotter by the minute, not that it had ever gotten cool. The sand was still burning from the day before. The sled was feeling heavier all the time, though The Clone knew well that it was really that his body was giving way under the stress.

When the second sun appeared over the horizon, The Clone was practically crawling. Each inch of forward progress seemed to take an eternity, and it seemed like every step would be the last. But then another one would follow, and every time he fell, he managed to somehow regain his feet.

Just keep going. That was all he could think. The suns beat down unmercifully, driving all other thoughts from his mind, trying to drive him to his knees, force him to give up and die, as relentless and pitiless as any droid and as fully monstrous as a Sith Lord.

He almost didn't notice when a shadow fell across his path. Or, to be accurate, he walked into a shadow. In fact, he didn't notice until he saw the line between shadow and light. He stopped and looked to his left, then his right. Beside him loomed a huge boulder, one of several, lending shade from the rising sun. Relief coursed through The Clone, but he knew it wasn't over yet. He had to find a spot among the boulders that would stay shady throughout the day.

He couldn't maneuver the sled over the rocks, and so was forced to leave it, carrying the Jedi over his shoulder. After so long trudging through the sand, the rocks felt unfamiliar and treacherous. He slipped several times, nearly dropping the Jedi. More than once he bit back a cry of pain as his ribs were jarred or his sore shoulders struck against rock. In the center of the formation, he found what he was looking for. Gratefully, he set the Jedi down in the shade, and went back for the light-saber. Then, utterly spent, he practically collapsed into a heap. He didn't mean to go to sleep, and he didn't really. He quite simply passed out from exhaustion.

* * *

_A/N: this so-called story is actually a brain-storming session which was later edited into a semi-coherent story. The story is told in 7 relatively self-contained plot-lines, each consisting of 3 chapters. Because there is an overarching plot which spreads across all seven parts, it is published here as a single story._

_My knowledge of _Star Wars_ is limited to the following: Episodes I-VI (the live action movies), the first season of CGI series _The Clone Wars_, anecdotes from my brothers (who actually play the video games and have read some of the books) and the extreme minimum of internet research (_i.e._ looking up the definition of "walker"). It is therefor advisable to consider this AU._

_As per usual, I will upload one chapter per day, barring anything unusual (I will attempt to give readers a head's up via A/N). __This was written for my entertainment, and is being published for yours. If you find yourself not enjoying it, then you should feel perfectly free to stop reading. __Heap praise or criticism upon it, whichever may suit you best. Or say nothing about it at all, if you would prefer._


	2. Part 1: The Desert 2

The Clone woke to someone shaking him by the shoulder. He tried to react quickly to defend himself, but his muscles were slow to respond, or maybe his brain was slow to send instructions. Either way, it took forever for him to roll away from whatever was touching him and get into a crouching position. He had to blink several times so he could see, at which point he realized it had been the Jedi trying to wake him, and he remembered what had happened.

"I was beginning to think you were dead," the Jedi sighed, then added "where are we?,"

"I'm not sure, Sir," The Clone replied truthfully.

He then proceeded to explain what had happened, as best he could recall. Though he didn't hesitate to give all the details, he was inwardly afraid that he had used poor judgment in leaving the downed ship. But the Jedi did not interrupt, nor did his expression betray any sort of dissatisfaction. That wasn't a guarantee, but it made The Clone feel a bit better about things.

"And that's how we ended up here, General Skywalker," The Clone finished "was I wrong?,"

"Wrong?. About what?," Anakin Skywalker asked.

"Leaving the ship behind, Sir,"

"I don't think so," Anakin replied neutrally "from what you've told me, you made the right call,"

The Clone did not express his relief, but he most certainly felt it.

"What do we do now, Sir?," The Clone asked.

"Chances are the battlefield has been abandoned by now," Anakin replied "I'll have to try and remember the map of the surrounding area, but I think there was a settlement not far off. As we were defending the Na'taves, they should be willing to help us. I hope,"

The Na'taves were notoriously unpredictable, it was actually surprising that they had sided with the Republic, and nobody had any confidence in their loyalty. They were just as likely to turn to the Separatists if the mood struck. Common sense didn't seem to factor into their decisions, it didn't matter to them which side seemed to be winning or what they stood for. The logic of the Na'taves seemed to go something like this: If they thought of it, it must be a good idea.

Anakin wasn't eager to go to them for help, but they might have radios that worked on this blasted rock, and surely they had medical supplies of some sort. Possibly Anakin could borrow or buy a ship from them and get off this planet himself. Of course, it was just as likely that he and The Clone would both be executed the moment they were spotted. Or possibly worse. Whatever that might be.

"Are you armed?," Anakin asked.

"Yes, General. I still have a blaster rifle. Your light-saber is right beside you, Sir,"

"I noticed," Anakin replied, turning slightly to pick it up.

He winced as the motion caused pain to travel up and down his side. He knew standing up was out of the question at the moment. But he knew also that The Clone wouldn't be able to carry him much farther. Though he was clearly trying, The Clone was unable to hide the breathlessness or pain in his voice. He had pretty much spent himself getting them this far.

"Can you travel, Sir?," The Clone asked the inevitable.

"No," Anakin told him "I don't think I can even stand,"

"I was afraid of that," The Clone sighed resignedly, then added after a moment "where do you think the settlement is, based on the information you have?,"

"I seem to remember it being twenty miles west of the battlefield,"

Though The Clone's face was hidden beneath his helmet, Anakin could sense him deflating at the prospect of having so far to trek, with only a vague idea of where to go. Clones were as a rule neither optimistic nor pessimistic, but rather realistic. Perhaps with a trend towards pessimism given their relative standing. Experience might win them some optimism points, but they remained forever lacking in imagination, which was required for both optimism and pessimism.

The Clone knew the facts as well as Anakin did. In his present condition, it would be an extremely difficult journey, even without the added "benefits" of sun and heat or lacking the "advantage" of water. Those factors included, it was bordering on the impossible. At least, for a mere clone.

But The Clone said nothing that was on his mind and, when he did speak, his voice was forced but level.

"I suggest we wait for nightfall, Sir. It can't be far off, given the positions of the suns. It won't be cool, not by a long shot, but it'll be better than this,"

"I agree," Anakin said "except you'll be going alone from here,"

"Sir?,"

"We both know you can't make it and drag me too. I'm better off here,"

"But, Sir, there are a number of wild animals here which are reported to be very dangerous,"

"I can take care of myself," Anakin said firmly "long enough for help to arrive anyway,"

"If those are you orders-,"

"They are,"

"I'll do my best, Sir,"

"I know," Anakin replied "in the meantime, let's take a look at your injuries,"

"I'll be alright, Sir,"

"Don't argue with me. You're in bad shape and you know it. Now get over here where I can reach you,"

The Clone seemed hurt at the suggestion that he would argue, but said nothing. It was hard to tell if he moved with reluctance or pain, either way he was slow and cautious in his movements.

Under the armor, things were worse than Anakin had suspected. The Clone was probably worse off than Anakin was, only The Clone's injuries were primarily confined to the chest area instead of his legs. Anakin found himself wondering how The Clone had dragged him as far as he claimed. If The Clone had been other than what he was, Anakin would have begun to think he'd made a mistake in his estimates. But clones weren't given to exaggeration or, as mentioned earlier, imagining things. He said he'd gone a certain distance, and it was doubtful he was in error.

Even if he was, all that meant was that they were lost. And they couldn't very well get more lost, so there wasn't any point in bringing the matter up. All it would do was unnerve The Clone, and that would get them nowhere. Clones were steady by nature, taking virtually everything in stride, but it was still possible to implant doubt or fear in their minds, both of which were more dangerous than the enemy. No point in doing it.

"So, you got a name?," Anakin asked.

"Everyone calls me JAC," came the quick reply.

"Jac?,"

"Just Another Clone, Sir,"

_That just about says it all_, Anakin thought.

"Well, Jac, looks like you got banged up pretty bad in the crash,"

"I was the lucky one, Sir," Jac replied evenly.

"Guess that's one way to look at it,"

"How else would I see it, Sir?,"

"Never mind," Anakin turned his head slightly to hide an amused grin "forget it,"

"As you say,"

* * *

Jac had slept most of the day per instructions. Anakin knew The Clone needed all the rest he could get before starting out. Jac had ever so briefly protested, still reluctant to leave the wounded Anakin unguarded. But Anakin knew The Clone was in no more shape for a fight than he was.

When night fell, it was evident that Jac was still exhausted, and sore from both the crash and the labor which had immediately followed it. But things weren't going to get better for him, not out here. They'd only get worse from here on out, so there was no point in waiting any longer.

"Are you sure you'll be alright alone, Sir?," The Clone asked.

"Go on, get out of here. And hurry back," Anakin said, nodding in the direction of the distant settlement, or where he hoped it would be anyway "help isn't going to get here by itself,"

"Yes sir,"

The Clone picked up his rifle and slung it over his shoulder, then got unsteadily to his feet. He tried hard to hide it, but he was fast reaching the end of his rope. Another twenty miles would probably kill him. But there wasn't much choice.

"Don't worry, Sir," The Clone said "I'll be back as soon as possible,"

This wasn't a lie. It was technically quite true, just not the entire truth. The whole truth was that ASAP might well be never. Jac didn't mention that possibility, nor did Anakin bring it up. But they were both thinking it, even as Anakin made a cheerful reply.

"I'll be waiting," that, also, was true. He had no choice.

Anakin watched The Clone make his careful way out of the rocks, staring after him until The Clone was long out of sight and earshot. Then Anakin settled in for a long wait.

* * *

The darkness hung heavily, there was no moon tonight, which seemed strange considering the full one from the night before. It was harder to see, in fact it was very nearly impossible. Jac found himself being guided more by his nearly infallible sense of direction than anything, trusting instinct to take him in a straight line while he used his eyes to keep from falling off of anything high or running into anything big. He had binoculars, but they weren't equipped with night vision. He supposed he ought to have picked up a piece of night vision equipment at the crash site, but it honestly hadn't occurred to him. It hadn't been so dark then, and surviving more than one night had seemed unlikely at best.

Yet, here it was, the second night, and he was still here, if only barely.

No longer preoccupied with pulling the sled, and comfortably working under the orders of a General, The Clone noticed sounds in the night which he had formerly been unaware of. Or maybe they hadn't been there, he wasn't sure which. In any case, they were ominous noises, rumblings, rustles and thuds of large creatures skulking through the night, some tracking his movements, others fleeing at his approach. He couldn't see them, and they did not approach if he stopped, but maintained their distance from him. That gave him but small comfort, as he knew that they were probably watching him, biding their time and learning whatever weaknesses he had.

Jac had learned to be wary of the savage beasts inhabiting many worlds. Perhaps they had no weapons save for that which they were born with, but they were still extremely dangerous in spite of this. Or perhaps because of it. Native predators were often the most aggressive of species, the more powerful they were in relation to the beasts around them, the more confident they were.

Jac knew he would have to keep a sharp eye out, and perhaps scare these animals off if they got too "friendly". He didn't exactly relish the idea. Clones were built for combat, not for hunting. Aside from which, you kill the wrong thing on a planet and the locals were likely to have your head for poaching an endangered species or, worse, threatening a sacred one.

That was exactly the kind of trouble Jac very much wanted to avoid right now. Actually, come to that, he wanted to avoid that kind of trouble all the time.


	3. Part 1: The Desert 3

Sunrise came all-too-soon for Anakin's liking. He found himself making the ridiculous wish that he could use the Force to keep things dark, to keep the suns from rising. He knew immediately that this was a foolish wish. Even if he could, who knew what kind of chaos that would bring to the planet?. Still, he couldn't help looking at the rising sun and wishing it would rise a little slower, giving The Clone just a bit more time.

Something else happened when the sun rose. Anakin had been hearing creatures shuffling around all night long. Now that the heat was returning to the land, they were all looking for shady spots to spend the day waiting for the relative cool of night.

_Ha. Cool. That's a laugh._ Anakin thought.

Anakin knew there was no real cause for alarm. Even predator creatures didn't hunt during the heat of the day. Even if one did happen upon him, it would probably rather share the space than put up a fight. It was just survival instinct. Fighting would cost energy, especially when combined with the effects of heat. Even so, Anakin couldn't help tensing up when an enormous brown lizard-thing crawled into the shade and dropped onto its belly with a hiss.

The reptile's slitted, palely green right eye rolled in Anakin's direction, and the beast lifted its head off the ground, then turned toward Anakin, flicking out its forked tongue. The twin tips of the black tongue brushed the air near Anakin's face, then rapidly retreated and disappeared into the creature's mouth. It parted its jaws and emitted a high-pitched sound which seemed to be a cross between a hiss and a growl. When Anakin didn't move, the beast lowered its head to rest on its front foot and sighed, still keeping a sharp eye on Anakin to ensure that he didn't sneak up on it.

But, after some time, that eye became unfocused, as the animal drifted into a heat-induced trance, similar to a doze, remaining utterly motionless as it endeavored to keep its body cool as the second sun found the horizon and began its daily crawl skyward.

Nevertheless, Anakin decided that he might be better off putting a bit of distance between himself and the giant lizard before it woke up hungry. Trouble was, moving was almost more trouble than it was worth. Anakin eventually resigned himself to crawling around the side of a large boulder, to a point where he could keep the creature in sight, but not be the most noticeable thing around himself.

He could fight it, certainly, probably even kill it if he wanted to. But he was wiser than that. Aside from not wanting to cause an unnecessary casualty, even of a non-sentient creature, the smell of it would probably be very bad. In addition to becoming a bio-hazard, it would likely attract many other carnivorous species, more than Anakin had any desire to fight at the moment.

On the other side of the boulder, Anakin found himself in the company of lizards which were a more agreeable size, along with a googly-eyed, feathered snake with bird wings which seemed momentarily alarmed by his presence, but its fear of the sun was greater than its fear of him.

It wasn't long before all the creatures settled into ignoring Anakin. He didn't move much and his inactivity made him seem far less dangerous than the sun. One lizard experimented with crawling onto his boot, to see if that was cooler. As it wasn't, the disappointed creature slid back to the ground.

The third sun appeared in the sky not long after the first reached its peak. Anakin wondered where The Clone was now, if he was still alive, and what he was doing.

* * *

The Clone was still on the move, though slower than before, his march had become more of a trudge really, not that it had been much of a march in the first place, more like a steady limp. Now it had become an unsteady limp which was becoming ever slower as The Clone wilted in the intense heat.

Suddenly he heard something up ahead in a cluster of rocks. He'd been hoping to rest there, but the sound was that of droids conversing. His heart sank. Had the Republic lost the battle after all?. Victory had seemed so likely, even with only two Jedi on the scene. One of whom, The Clone remembered dismally, had never arrived. So that was it. But what were the droids doing here?. Were they lost?. Did droids get lost?. The Clone had never put too much thought into what droids were truly capable of. He had always been under the impression that most droids were immensely stupid. Surely getting lost was not beyond their powers of incompetence.

But that wasn't the biggest problem he had. The Clone could theoretically get past them, he supposed, but they might see him after that, and shoot him in the back. No good. He'd have to take them out here and now. But he was outnumbered, and in no shape for a fight.

The Clone had learned a few tricks in his time. Droids were easily fooled, confused or otherwise bewildered. Once out of their depth, they sank quickly. In other words, it was easy to kill a confounded robot. One of the tried and true methods was to lure them with a "mysterious sound". One, or maybe a handful, would go check it out, while the rest remained behind or, better still, spread out to look for the source of the noise in other directions. Divide and Conquer.

The Clone checked his weapon. He didn't want to get into a fight and then realize he was missing a vital part of the plan. The blaster seemed fine. The Clone crept closer for a head count of the droids. If there were few enough, he could just take them all at once.

Five droids were standing around, looking baffled.

"Are you sure it was this way?. I don't recognize these rocks," one droid said to another.

"Are you missing a few components?. We passed these rocks an hour ago. We're going in circles," argued a third droid.

"I say we should return to base and see what they want us to do," the fourth suggested.

"Is your head on wrong?. They'd blast us," the fifth protested.

"Lemme solve your problem," The Clone said, stepping from the shadows.

"That's not good," the second droid addressed this to its companions, right before losing its head.

The Clone dispatched the five droids quickly, but the battle took its toll. He wasn't hit, but he'd had to quickly dodge fire, which had aggravated his wounds. The unwonted exercise had left him breathless and severely overheated. He sank to his knees as a shot hit the last of the droids, and there he stayed, wheezing, coughing now and then.

_That's it, _he thought, _I'm done._

He figured he might as well go to the battlefield to die. There was as good as any place. And maybe there were a few droids standing that he could blast before he went down. He turned towards the direction he'd been ordered in, and shook his head. He couldn't get that far. He'd be lucky if he could make it another ten feet without collapsing. It didn't matter which way he fell. He turned away, and felt a heavy weight on him, guilt or perhaps shame. Disobeying an order was a decidedly unpleasant experience, even when it was solely because he was unable to fulfill his assigned directive.

Sure enough, he'd barely gotten beyond the shadow of the rocks when he fell. He didn't try to get up. He couldn't, and he knew it. He'd gone as far as he was able. He closed his eyes, and sent a silent apology to the Jedi whom he had failed.

* * *

"This one's still alive,"

Commander Cody looked over at the trooper who'd spoken. He tilted his head slightly at seeing the fallen clone. One look at him told Cody that The Clone hadn't been part of the battle. He was a clone from the ship that had been shot down. The one carrying General Skywalker.

"Leave him to me," Cody ordered, staying the trooper who had been about to move the wounded clone out for medical attention "search for other survivors,"

When the trooper was gone, Cody knelt beside the clone and carefully slid off the scuffed helmet. The Clone was most assuredly alive, breathing shallow but regular. Cody took some water and splashed it on the unconscious clone's face. Perhaps not the kindest act, but he had to wake The Clone up and get information out of him.

The Clone was quick to revive, and to relinquish all information he had about the crash and General Skywalker's location. He offered to lead them back, but Cody told him that wasn't necessary. At this point, The Clone insisted, saying that the he had promised the Jedi he would return. Naturally, Cody assumed that this had been an order. He wasn't about to get in the way of a clone doing his duty.

Cody called a trooper over.

"Patch him up as best you can. I'm going to rally a rescue party. We're going to locate General Skywalker," Cody had been left in charge of the ground while General Kenobi dealt with other issues which the Commander was not privy to.

"Sir?," the trooper queried "this clone appears half dead to me,"

"Do what you can," Cody repeated firmly, then strode away.

Five minutes later, he had gathered six clones and a ground vehicle. The injured clone didn't look much better, but he seemed slightly more alert.

"Nothin' a good rest and some water won't cure," he assured Cody.

"It'll have to wait," Cody replied neutrally.

What had taken the wounded clone hours took Cody's transport about ten minutes. They found Skywalker near where The Clone had indicated, dazed and a little out of it, but still very much alive. He told them to give the giant lizard a wide berth, but all they saw were some small lizards and a snake-bird. They looked at each other, shrugged, and figured it must be heatstroke. They never went around the other side of the boulder, otherwise they'd have known exactly what Skywalker was talking about.

"Jac," Anakin smiled at sight of The Clone.

"I told you I'd be back, Sir," Jac said, then averted his gaze.

"What's wrong?,"

"Well, Sir... I... I deviated from course, Sir,"

"You still found help, didn't you?,"

"That's one way of lookin' at it," The Clone sighed wearily.

"I don't see any other way," Anakin returned.


	4. Part 2: The Negotiator 1

The Clone's gait was off. It took Padmé Amidala a moment to pick out exactly what was off about it. If The Clone hadn't been walking with two others of his kind, she might have missed it entirely. When he took a stride with his right leg, it was shorter than usual, he was compensating by taking awkwardly long strides with his left.

Padmé turned to the clone commander, who would not actually be going with them. The presence of the clones was said to be a token one. The Na'taves were singularly unimpressed by politicians, and preferred to deal with those who weren't afraid to involve themselves in the dirty business of war.

"That trooper appears to be injured," she observed.

"He was wounded in the first battle here. Way I hear it, the ship he was on crash landed. He never made it to the battlefield," the commander replied.

When Padmé did not appear to have been put at ease by this, the commander did his best to relieve any worry she had for herself or the mission.

"Don't worry, Senator. He's just your pilot. We're a little short-handed in this sector, we've been having to get creative in the deployment of our troops. The ones who are able volunteer to serve in a limited capacity as pilots and maintenance crews. He knows what he's doing, not to worry. He may be a ground trooper, but he knows how to fly. He'll get you there and back in one piece,"

"Actually," Padmé said "I was worried about _him_,"

She had turned and walked away before the commander could fully absorb this. Clones fell by the hundreds every day out on the battlefield. This was an easy assignment, they were there just for show. Sure enough they were fully armed and ready for action, but they weren't expecting trouble. Even if they had been, he still wouldn't have understood the Senator's concern for a trooper. One clone more or less was nothing to get worked up over.

The Clone was standing at the base of the ramp into the ship, waiting for Padmé to enter. His position was defensive, but in this situation more a formality than a function. He waited for her to make it halfway up the ramp before turning sharply and following her into the ship.

Inside, Senator Rasatin Fule had already made himself at home. The Senator had never seen a clone in person before, and was rather childish in his delight at them. He came up behind one clone and rapped on the back of the unfortunate trooper's helmet.

"Hey, what's your problem!-," the clone cut himself off as he turned and recognized his 'assailant' "Senator Rasatin, is there a problem?," he asked this with as much respect as his earlier remark had scorn.

"Oh no, carry on about your business," Rasatin assured the clone "don't mind me,"

He then promptly leaned down and gave the clone's firearm a hearty tap.

"Please, sir," the trooper said "this is a highly sensitive weapon, I wouldn't want it to go off,"

"Oh nonsense," Rasatin waved his hand dismissively, the gesture giving the clone time to inch himself backwards and out of tapping range.

Rasatin was a thoroughly revolting slug of a man, a fact which he was inordinately proud of. Hearing the last clone coming up the ramp, he turned his bulging eyes on this new victim and opened his cavernous mouth in an amused smile. He trundled over to The Clone and poked the chest plate of The Clone's armor experimentally, then looked at his finger as though checking for dirt.

"Something I can help you with, Senator?," The Clone asked.

"Tell me, what kind of designations do you clones have?. Numbers, letters?. Names?,"

"A combination of letters and numbers. A lot of us pick up names after awhile,"

"Do you?," Rasatin practically squealed with delight, patting his hands together "what about you?. Do you have a name?,"

"Everybody calls me Jac," The Clone answered.

"Oh that's fascinating. Aren't they lovely, Senator Amidala?," Rasatin turned briefly to Padmé before returning his attention to his hapless victim.

_Lovely, _Padmé thought_, is hardly a word I would use to describe them._

"So, how many droids have you shot?," Rasatin asked The Clone, Jac.

"I'm afraid I haven't kept score," Jac told him.

"I thought all you clones kept count or something," Rasatin said, then turned to another clone "how about you?. Do you know how many droids you've destroyed?,"

"None directly, Senator," that clone responded reluctantly "I've never been in actual combat,"

"Huh," Rasatin's belly was involved in this remark, and he turned to Padmé "what kind of clones are these?. Never been in a fight, not keeping score... no wonder this war is never ending,"

The clones exchanged glances with one another, but said nothing in their defense. It wasn't their place to defend against accusations of this nature. Better to take it quietly and go about their business. To this end, Jac edged his way past Rasatin and took the pilot's seat. His co-pilot was already ready and waiting. Padmé noticed the co-pilot turn his head to say something quietly. The pilot shrugged and flipped some switches. The ship hummed with the power input.

"No wonder this war's never-ending," the co-pilot commented "with people like that running things,"

"On the other hand, where would we be if there was no war?," Jac shrugged "The way I figure it, why complain when you've still got some kind of purpose?,"

"There's that, I suppose," the co-pilot said begrudgingly "still, I'd rather be doing anything else other than this babysitting nonsense. I was not trained for this,"

"You were trained to fly, weren't you?," Jac countered "right then, let's get the job done,"

The co-pilot had no retort for this, and was reduced to discontented muttering. Jac smiled beneath his helmet. Rookies were always narrow-minded. If they weren't shooting or being shot at, they were unable to fathom that they might be doing something worthwhile. Experience taught a clone that even the mundane tasks had to be done by someone, or the whole works came crashing down.

* * *

The takeoff and subsequent flight had been smooth and uneventful, except for a brief issue with Rasatin wanting to touch the controls. Jac advised him not to, but was in no position of authority and was thus helpless to prevent Rasatin from doing as he pleased. Padmé was able to talk the Senator into resuming his seat and kept him more or less entertained for the remainder of the flight.

Rasatin was good at what he did, but he made a nuisance of himself everywhere he went. Padmé had worked with him before. He had been chosen especially for his manners, in fact. The Na'taves had a similar set of offensive habits and dangerous curiosity. While they were easily irritated in some ways, there were certain codes of behavior they chose to either condone or overlook.

"We'll keep the engine warmed up," Jac said as the senators and their clone escort disembarked.

A clone marched on either side of them, two behind, adjusting their pace to suit the senators'. Padmé actually had to slow her own walk to keep in line with Rasatin, who slithered along at a leisurely pace, looking around as though enjoying a guided tour.

Five Na'taves were waiting at the base of the ramp. They were lithe, upright, cat-like, walking on their toes and using their tails for balance. Their hands bore more resemblance to paws than anything, especially with the retractable claws. At the center of them was a black Na'tave with long white whiskers. Padmé recalled that Na'taves' whiskers grew longer and lighter with age.

This Na'tave stepped forward, rolling a piercing orange gaze across the visitors and flexing his claws thoughtfully as he assessed them. The great white whiskers twitched, and a single ear flicked. The Na'taves in his wake put away their weapons with obvious reluctance.

"I am Senator Amidala," Padmé introduced herself "this is Senator Fule,"

"I am called Forsooth by my people," the black Na'tave said, tilting his head very slightly to the side.

Perhaps their version of a bow?. Padmé was uncertain and chose not to mimic the gesture, lest the Na'taves take offense.

"We are here to discuss many things," Rasatin said "trade with your people, for one. Your world is rich in a valuable ore we use in the building of weapons to fight the Separatists,"

"You have nothing we want," Forsooth said curtly.

"Then why are we here?," Rasatin asked, bewildered.

"We find your presence here irritating," Forsooth replied, turning brusquely away.

A flick of his tail indicated that he desired them to follow. The senators followed. The clones exhibited some reluctance, then adjusted their weapons and fell into formation around the senators. They didn't much like what they were hearing. But they weren't negotiators, and it wasn't their place to argue with senators. Better they kept their mouths shut and follow along quietly.

"We want you, and the Separatists, to go away," Forsooth went on "your war is making a terrible mess on our planet, especially the desert region. You're frightening away our prey, and terrorizing our farm animals. Not to mention the stress you've put on our mothers. The kitting season is far overdue, but they won't give birth around all this noise,"

"We apologize for the inconvenience, but the Republic is only trying to-," Padmé never finished what she had to say, the black Na'tave whirled on her so fast.

"Inconvenience!?. You know nothing of inconvenience!. You with your troops and your ships and your noise and your war!. The only reason we asked for your help was because we thought doing so would make the Separatists go away!. And yet all we see are more soldiers, more blood to poison our land, more burning of our sacred trees. And you speak to me of inconvenience!?," the Na'tave hissed, extending his claws fully and showing razor teeth mere inches from Padmé's face.

The clone beside her tensed visibly, but she put her hand out to stay him.

"Again, I apologize," Padmé said calmly "but destruction is an unfortunate side-effect of war. The Separatists will not go without a fight. They would benefit just as much from your resources as the Republic. The difference is that they would take your world by force,"

Forsooth either snorted or hissed derisively, Padmé wasn't sure, then he turned away from her and continued walking. They had gone some distance from the ship, and were heading towards a rather fancy looking structure, possibly a meeting hall.

A white Na'tave with midnight-colored eyes and whiskers still half-black made her graceful way to Forsooth's side and whispered something to him. He turned to her and snapped something at her. She shrank back from him, then fell behind until she was near Padmé.

"I must apologize for Forsooth. He is an elder. Elders are very resistant to change," she said.

"I can understand his concerns," Padmé replied "but I'm afraid I can't do anything about them,"

"As you say, war is destructive," the Na'tave replied passively "I feel we are better off dealing with the Republic than the Separatists, but there are those among us who do not agree,"

"I take it Forsooth is one of them?," Padmé guessed.

"Hardly. He wants both sides gone, but he doesn't yet know how to accomplish it,"

"The Republic is more than willing to leave you alone, though at least one outpost would need to be set up to ensure that the Separatists stay away,"

"I do not believe Forsooth would be agreeable to even so small an imposition," the white Na'tave said "he is looking for a way to get rid of all of you. Still, it is not he you should be wary of, but the others I mentioned who believe we would be better off in the hands of the Separatists,"

"We'll be careful. The clones are here for our protection," Padmé gestured to the troopers "don't worry about us. But thanks for the warning,"


	5. Part 2: The Negotiator 2

"I'm picking something up on the scanner,"

Jac looked over at his co-pilot's screen. He gazed at it for a long moment, to assure himself that what he thought he was seeing was, in fact, what he really saw.

"We've got clankers inbound," Jac said "better warn the others,"

The co-pilot responded to this without question. He was a rookie compared with Jac, but he had been in enough scrapes to know that an experienced hand was not one you should argue with. If you had to question them, it was best to do it while complying.

"I can't get through," the co-pilot said after a moment.

Jac took over, then growled in frustration "they're jamming our transmission. We've been set up,"

"Now what do we do?," the co-pilot asked nervously.

"We've got to warn the senators. One of us will have to go and warn them, the other will stay here to guard the ship," Jac said.

"Are you kidding?. With clankers on the way?. Whoever stays behind is toast,"

"Not if they lift off," Jac replied "and land at a prearranged time in an agreed on location,"

* * *

Minutes later, Jac was alone on the ground. Using binoculars, he could just barely make out the distant battle droids. He knew that he didn't have a lot of time. He knew also that the Na'taves might well try to stop him. He couldn't let them do that, but neither could he attack them. Stealth wasn't his favorite occupation, but it seemed the reasonable course given the circumstances.

_How often are clones victims of circumstance._ He thought to himself.

Jac knew he had to travel swiftly. He knew the senators had gone into the nearby building, but he had no schematics for it. What he wouldn't give for some Jedi intuition right about now. But, as he didn't, he'd just have to settle for a clone's methodology. Start at one end and work his way to the other, searching room by room. He did have something to go on. Meeting locations were seldom on the bottom floor for some absurd reason. That meant he ought to start at the top of the building, and work his way down.

_I sure hope their elevators aren't too secure._

This proved not to be the case, but he was lucky in a few respects: Na'taves were notoriously independent and therefor loath to sound the alarm and call for assistance. Jac ran into trouble at the first hallway, coming upon three Na'taves who were patrolling. Here he was lucky a second time. Though Na'taves carried weapons, they preferred to engage the enemy head-on, using tooth and nail in favor of technology. That gave Jac the close quarters he needed to disable rather than kill his adversaries.

Thing was, that was easier said than done.

Na'taves were fast, agile creatures, hunting for both survival and entertainment had honed their skills to deadly perfection. Jac's advantages were his armor and his extensive combat training. From day one, he'd been trained to fight, there was room in him for nothing else.

Fact was, there was something thrilling in fighting the Na'taves hand-to-hand. Jac could appreciate their prowess, and be impressed by their skills as he could never be with a droid. Even so, it was over quickly. The aggressive tactics of the Na'taves meant it could be no other way. The Clone had to put them down hard and fast if he wanted to survive. They'd probably be mad when they woke up, he guessed, angry with the Senate who'd sent these ill-mannered and violent clones to them.

Politics had never been part of The Clone's training, but he could recognize when he'd made a mess of things nonetheless. He took solace in the knowledge that he'd had no choice. After all, he'd tried talking first, but the Na'taves wouldn't have any of it.

The elevator, when he found it, was unguarded, and required no security pass to get it moving. This was a relief. The Clone wasn't especially technical minded. He was a ground troop. Not a technician, and not a medic. He knew ground combat. The rest of it was all academics and no experience. By training, he could do any job necessary. But by experience, he'd become only one thing.

The Clone made it to the top floor and set out in search of the senators. His progress was slower than he would have liked, as he repeatedly had to duck and dodge to avoid the Na'taves. Sure, he could fight the lot of them. But what for?. The Republic was trying to make allies of them, and it wouldn't do for him to go around beating up potential friends if it could be avoided.

* * *

The Na'taves had led the delegation to a meeting room. A low table was at its center, surrounded by satiny pillows. The Na'taves had curled up, cat style, on the pillows. As they got comfortable, their eyes took on dreamy expressions. Padmé and Rasatin sat on pillows of their own, the clones lingered in the shadows near the door.

"As I was saying, I want you to leave, and to take the Separatists with you," Forsooth said.

At his left lay the white Na'tave. She was called Meisheb, and appeared to be Forsooth's adviser, not that he took much notice of the things she whispered in his ear.

"That's not how it works,"Rasatin tried reasoning with the elder "the Separatists will not go of their own accord. They will have to be driven away,"

"Which will cause more destruction, I suppose," Forsooth murmured.

"No more than we can help, I assure you," Padmé said "the Jedi are keepers of the peace, they do not enjoy violence and destruction,"

"It is not the Jedi who destroy our crops and homes," Forsooth returned "it is your foot soldiers. Clones, I believe is what you call them. Tramping about, shooting anything that moves, ravaging the land like diseased Mityars,"

The clones in the background showed no reaction to the accusation, nor did they show any sign of having heard at all. If they took offense to the remarks, they kept it to themselves.

"The clones operate under orders from Jedi as a rule," Rasatin explained "if any are doing as you have said, they are rogues,"

It was about this time that the doors crashed open and Jac came rolling in. He knelt there, looking around him cautiously before rising. At his back were a handful of furious looking Na'taves, who lashed their tails and hissed at him.

"Explain yourself!," Rasatin exploded, slithering from his pillow with more speed than his ponderous proportions could adequately account for.

"Clankers- er, droids, Senator. They're coming here, jamming our radio. We need to go. Now,"

"Bah!," Rasatin snorted "if there were droids here, we would know about it,"

"Radio transmissions are jammed," The Clone repeated persistently.

"Irrelevant," Forsooth said "I have guards posted. The howl of a Na'tave can be heard for miles. We have no need of your useless technology to communicate. There are no droids,"

"Respectfully, Majesty, I saw them with my own eyes,"

"Liar!," Forsooth snarled, and his fellow Na'taves took up the angry cry.

The Clone looked about him at the advancing natives, then looked to the Senators for aid, or perhaps instruction. The other clones exchanged glances. Were it up to them, they would help their brother, but given the circumstances, they would likely be in error in so doing.

"Stop!," Padmé commanded fiercely "this clone's claims are easily proven. Trooper, give your binoculars to Forsooth, and show him where you saw the droids,"

The Clone bent his head in assent and, amidst the yowling of the Na'taves, he took out his binoculars, went to the window and pinpointed the droids. He could still see them.

"There," he pointed.

Forsooth arose slowly, and moved fluidly to the window. He snatched the binoculars from The Clone and put them to his eyes with clear disdain.

"I see nothing," he said.

Jac fidgeted, obviously fighting the urge to argue with the Na'tave, to insist that he was in the right. Politics be damned, it was his job to keep the senators safe from harm.

"They're there alright. And there aren't enough of us to protect you," The Clone said "we need to leave, and get to where we can call for help,"

"Get this treacherous creature out of my sight," Forsooth hissed.

A brown Na'tave advanced in response to the command, body low and eyes narrowed. The Clone again looked to the senators for help, but they offered none.

"Go with them," Rasatin said "do as they say. We shall come and get you when we are through negotiating. Your masters will deal with you then,"

The Clone clung to his weapon for a moment, as though in protest, then he relinquished it to the Na'tave. His brothers watched him as he was led away, exchanging looks of unease. When one clone went bad, it got them all dirty. Worse, he was the only clone among them with real battle experience.

But there was nothing they could do. They'd heard the Senator's orders.

"As for the rest of you," Rasatin turned on the remaining clones "behave yourselves. I apologize, Majesty Forsooth. Such behavior is not considered acceptable. The offender will be punished, I can assure you," he returned to his seat and settled there while the others slowly went to their own pillows.

* * *

The co-pilot, now the pilot, circled around the mountains, out of sight. There he waited for the time he was scheduled to return, unaware that Jac was now imprisoned, and the senators were still oblivious to the danger. The other clones were on the alert, wary even though their brother had been discredited before their eyes. Something didn't sit right with them. They were fast growing to dislike Forsooth and, by association, his people as well.

What they didn't know was that Meisheb harbored reservations of her own.

Unnoticed, she slipped out of the meeting hall and down to the prison block, where The Clone sat in a cell, waiting for the proverbial ax to fall.

"Go away," Meisheb told the guard, lashing her tail to let him know she was in an irritable mood and arguing with her, even briefly, was inadvisable.

The guard scurried out of sight, and Meisheb halted in front of the cell door.

"Come to finish me off?," The Clone asked.

Meisheb frowned at him, critically measuring this strange creature whose kind had come to be a blight upon her beloved land. Even though his eyes were hidden by the helmet he wore, Meisheb could sense his gaze upon her, measuring her even as she now measured him. She decided to ignore his question, at least for the moment.

"You said that radio communication is blocked," Meisheb began.

"That's right,"

"And that is why you entered the meeting hall without permission. You could not acquire it,"

"Right again," The Clone said.

"Yet Forsooth saw no enemies in the distance,"

"So he says," The Clone muttered under his breath.

He evidently believed that he was speaking too softly for her to hear, but Meisheb had the excellent hearing of all her kind, and caught the rude comment.

"You suggest that Forsooth is lying," Meisheb growled, unsheathing her claws menacingly.

"Respectfully, he's either lying or can't see," The Clone returned mildly "I know what I saw. I understand you don't believe what I've said, you've no good reason to. But I won't say I didn't see those droids, because I did,"

"You would not deny it, even though you have been caged because of it?," Meisheb asked.

"I'm a clone, Milady. We may withhold information, but we never lie without orders. It's not in our training. Or in our nature,"

"I see," Meisheb flicked her tail and stalked away, but her mind was racing.

Was it possible that Forsooth was lying?. She didn't want to believe it, but she had suspected it since before The Clone had even come barging in. If Forsooth thought he saw a way of getting rid of both Republic and Separatist troops, he was sure to take it, no matter what.


	6. Part 2: The Negotiator 3

The tabby-striped Na'tave crouched in the lookout tower, perching on the railing in blatant disregard for safety regulations. He did this at the request of Meisheb, looking off into the distance, searching for he knew not what exactly. His great emerald eyes were very nearly as accurate as a pair of binoculars, that being why he was on watch duty.

He straightened suddenly, tail twitching in anticipation of confirmation of what he thought he'd seen. Sure enough, there rose in the distance a cloud of dust, which very nearly concealed the advancing Separatist troops. He dropped down from the railing and hissed, hair ridging along his neck.

"There are droids invading from that direction," he told Meisheb.

"Very good. Do not sound the alarm, I will take care of it. As for you, I want you to make a list of all who are posted to guard in that area. I want their names, I want their records, I want to know why they aren't doing their jobs. Go now,"

The tabby scampered away hurriedly. It was unwise to argue with a white Na'tave. They were known for their ferocious tempers and exceptionally unforgiving natures. Meisheb smiled to herself as the guard disappeared, a self-satisfied purr escaping from her. While the rumors of white Na'taves were most assuredly true, Meisheb was far from unreasonable. Her wrath she saved for those who deserved it, though she could certainly use her reputation to secure immediate obedience through fear.

Her amusement disappeared as she turned to the matter at hand. Regardless of the reason the guards had not raised the alarm, Forsooth had lied. If the Senate discovered his treachery, it would provoke a diplomatic incident. The Republic would turn on the Na'tave people just as the Separatists had, or at the very least leave them completely unprotected. Meisheb was wiser than to think that was in the best interest of her people.

But she could not step out and accuse an elder just like that, especially if it turned out that he had some kind of plan which she was presently unaware of. She must act quickly, but cautiously.

Meisheb had left the meeting hall unnoticed, and she returned almost the same way. She noticed that one of the clones turned his head at her approach, then dismissed her as nonthreatening. She tilted her head towards him, acknowledging his alertness, and continued on her way.

The snowy Na'tave adviser slipped onto her pillow at Forsooth's side, luminous eyes settling on him as she curled up to await his notice. Conversation continued around her unabated, and she began to 'knead' her pillow impatiently, while maintaining her passive facial expression. At last, a black ear flicked in her direction and she leaned forward to quietly address her leader.

"You lied about the droids. Why?,"

Forsooth, who had been in the middle of an animated oration about the damages caused by clone troops, broke off mid-sentence and turned to look Meisheb fully in the eyes. She returned his piercing orange gaze impassively, blinking slowly and forcing her ears to assume a relaxed position. She heard a soft 'thump' as Forsooth's tail lashed agitatedly beneath the table. Her claws sprang out, digging into her pillow, even as she maintained her outward appearance of calm.

The Senators knew something had happened, but they didn't know what. The clones detected the tension in the air, you didn't need to be a Jedi to feel it, and their hands tightened on their weapons as they looked for signs of trouble, using all the subtlety they could muster.

"I am doing what is best for my people," Forsooth said quietly.

"Our people!," Meisheb spat back, her illusion of calm failing all at once "what have you done!?,"

"The Separatists have no interest in nor any need of our planet aside from its resources. If the clone troops pull out, I have been promised that the droids will confine themselves to the mines, and leave our farmland alone. It was best,"

"Best?. You dare speak to me of best!?," Meisheb was practically yowling, holding herself in place by the claws which had dug into the pillow, fur bristling along her neck and back.

This comment, the Senators couldn't help but hear. Thus far, they had heard only Meisheb, as Forsooth had kept his voice intentionally low. Meisheb knew it, and her eyes flashed with anger.

"I knew you would not go along with this," Forsooth told her "which is why I did not inform you,"

"You know I cannot let this go," Meisheb snarled, whiskers flattening to her face "I will not be party to this,"

"To what?," Padmé decided she'd had enough of hearing half a conversation.

"Guards, arrest them!," Forsooth cried before Meisheb could answer.

The clones reacted instantly, turning their weapons on the Na'taves who closed around them. The first shot fired was a warning, an intentional miss on some self-restrained clone's part. But the Na'taves were not dissuaded. Rasatin took matters into his own hands.

"Stand down," he ordered, holding up a hand "we do not want trouble. Majesty Forsooth, what is this all about?,"

"I have struck a deal with the Separatists. If I aid them in ridding the planet of Republic forces, they will leave us alone. It is all I want," Forsooth replied "I told them you were coming,"

"You commit to murder," Meisheb corrected him "you can see they are few against many, they are living where those monsters in the distance are not. And you cover your own lie by punishing another's truth," here she lost her grip on the pillow and lunged forward.

While the stunned Na'tave guards looked on, the two rolled across the floor, a blur of black and white. During this time, the tabby guard returned with his report, and then cringed by the door. Padmé and Rasatin looked at each other, but this was clearly an internal matter which they should have no part in.

Fur flew in clouds and the two combatants yowled their fury at one another. Suddenly, Meisheb sprang clear, landing lightly on top of the table. Forsooth lay panting on the ground, eyes downcast. Meisheb held her position for a moment, then twitched her tail in satisfaction and turned.

"Guards, arrest _him_. And release the clone while you're down there," Meisheb purred, stepping delicately off the table and assuming what had been Forsooth's seat.

"I recommend you leave, Senators," Meisheb said quietly "for your own protection, and for ours,"

"If the Separatists suspect they were lied to, they will punish you and your people," Padmé protested.

"What do you suggest?," Meisheb asked patiently "you have not the troops with you to provide adequate defense. If you remain, you shall fall,"

"What we need is help," Padmé said.

"How do you suggest we acquire it?. Your radio transmissions are blocked, your clone said so,"

"Forsooth said the yowl of a Na'tave can be heard for miles. Is there some way your people could carry a message to a garrison stationed on the planet?,"

"Indeed, it is very possible. Bailesh," the tabby pricked up his ears at sound of his name "you have heard the problem. Send a message. And let us hope there are enough of our people listening to get the word out,"

"Yes, Majesty," Bailesh bowed slightly and left in a hurry, nearly bumping into Jac on his way out.

"It may take some time for word to travel," Meisheb said "my guards may not be able to hold out. If you are agreeable, your troops could be a great help to us. I am sure their prowess with long-range weapons is beyond our own,"

Padmé nodded and turned to the clones.

"Say the word, Senator," Jac said "we're always ready to have a go at clankers,"

"Gentlemen, let's go to war. Jac, I want you on the ship,"

"Excuse me?," was that hurt she detected in his voice?.

"Your co-pilot needs you. That ship and its weapons are our biggest advantage. But a single trooper can't hope to evade fire and return it by himself. I need you up there,"

"Right away," Jac replied without further hesitation.

When he left, Padmé turned back to Meisheb to find the Na'tave looking after the clone.

"Devoted to duty, aren't they?," Meisheb said quietly.

"Oh very much," Rasatin put in "isn't it impressive?,"

"Creatures born and bred for war," Meisheb answered "a sight both awesome and terrible to behold,"

* * *

"Well, kid, this is it," Jac told the pilot "how's it feel to be first line of defense?,"

"I'm a pilot, Sir," the pilot replied carefully "but air combat is not in my experience,"

"That's why you're doing the flying and I'm doing the shooting," Jac said "each man does what he knows best. This is not a situation for experimentation,"

"That's just it, though. I don't know fighting. I just dream about it,"

"Look, all you have to do is keep us from getting shot. Pretend you're dropping troops on the ground if it'll make you feel better, but just keep this bird in the air and intact. Remember, we have to take the senators back home once this is over. Mission ain't over 'til we've done that,"

"You know what?," the pilot said as the ship lifted off "I hate diplomacy,"

"You and me both, kid,"

They began with a strafing run. They hid behind the hills until the droids were almost upon them, suddenly rising and sweeping over the unsuspecting droids as fast as the pilot could move them while Jac shot down as many droids as possible in that time.

"There's not a lot down there," Jac observed "they weren't expecting resistance,"

"Think we can take them all out?,"

"Not a chance," Jac replied "but we can sure give 'em hell before our backup gets here. Turn this bucket around, I want another shot,"

The droids were ready for them this time, and shot back. The pilot found that he had to sacrifice stability and speed for maneuverability. Many of Jac's shots were misses as a result.

"Let's regroup," Jac said "we've done as much damage as we can out here without getting this ship blown up. We'll let out brothers on the ground take the next shot,"

"Roger that,"

The ship swept back toward the building. With hand signals, Jac let the troops on the ground know the enemy wasn't far behind, then they cut around behind the building out of sight. Ambush was their best tactic things being as they were. The droids knew the ship was around, but had no way of knowing when or where it would appear next.

The droids continued their advance. The ground troops opened fire.

"Get the ship around behind them. We'll catch them in the crossfire," Jac recommended.

The pilot did as instructed, flying the ship in low and cutting around behind the droids. At this point, Jac let them have it. A few moments later, the Na'taves put in their two cents, some firing from watch towers, others leaping out of the shadows and tackling the droids directly.

"Imagine if one of those was a Jedi," the pilot commented.

"I'm just glad we don't have to fight them," Jac returned mildly.

The Na'taves' movements were startlingly efficient. They picked their targets, leaped on them, ripped them to pieces, and jumped to the next one. At close range, it was doubtful anything short of a Jedi or Sith Lord would be able to match them. Pound for pound, their speed and agility was unmatched.

But they had a clear weakness: the droids could shoot them out of the air. Their skills were formidable, their courage unquestionable, but they had none of the powers of a Jedi. They couldn't deflect blasts or effectively dodge midair. The Na'tave warriors were falling in large numbers.

"Swing around again. I want to give those Na'taves some covering fire," Jac ordered.

The next wave of Na'taves had started to creep from the shadows when they saw the ship come around. The Na'tave at the lead halted them. He couldn't know that it was Jac's actual plan to give them covering fire, but he could see what the ship was doing and was clever enough to utilize it to his advantage. As the ship swung around, the Na'taves made their assault, running behind and beneath it and taking the droids by surprise as the latter fired on the ship overhead.

* * *

"Your warriors are impressive," Obi-Wan Kenobi told Meisheb.

He had arrived with additional clone troops, just in the nick of time. Meisheb herself had entered the battle, her white fur bore the dirt and blood to prove it. But she had lost none of her regal air, in fact she seemed more dignified than ever to Padmé.

"As are yours, General," Meisheb returned "I can assure you, this shall not happen again. Having defeated Forsooth in battle, the duty of leadership now falls to me. I do not appreciate this war on my planet, but I do not believe anything less than force will drive the Separatists from our lands. Your troops have shown honor and bravery in the face of adversity, something a robot cannot do,"

"Are you saying you're willing to continue negotiations?," Rasatin asked.

"For the time being. Perhaps we can reach an arrangement which is agreeable to us all,"

"I hope so, Majesty," Obi-Wan said, bowing slightly "I certainly hope so,"


	7. Part 3: Call to Darkness 1

The Clone was miserable. He was cold, he was wet right through his armor, and he was tired. And he wasn't the only one. He marched along in formation with a squad of brothers who were relative strangers to him. There had been a sketchy report that General Grievous was spotted in the area, here at the darker side of Aakaria, the Na'tave home-world. Jedi Master Glyr Rtj-lyr had been dispatched to check out the story. They had been greeted by a hot landing zone, losing a number of troops in the process. The ships carrying vehicles were forced to abort, all save one which was carrying a walker, more specifically an AT-RT.

The Jedi was using it, asserting that his aim and vision were both superior to the clones. If they ran into trouble, he would be able to warn them long before a clone in the same position. The clones didn't argue. Why would they?. A Jedi gave them an order, who were they to disagree with it?. Jedi did all kinds of things that didn't seem sensible. Clones quickly learned to live with it, as experience showed them that Jedi were almost never wrong. At least, not when compared with clones.

_And to think,_ The Clone thought morosely, _not so long ago I was cursing the heat._

This portion of Aakaria was typically shrouded in darkness, the planet's three suns touching here just often enough to make sure the steady supply of rainfall never quite turned to snow or ice. The lack of sunlight and perpetual cold discouraged most plants from growing, the rest were stopped by the rocks. This place brought a brand new meaning to the phrase "lifeless rock". It was almost solid black stone, and so far the clones had not spotted even one plant or animal, living or otherwise.

They had left the battlefield behind, in favor of heading straight for the coordinates Master Rtj-lyr had received. The surviving droids were probably still following their trail, but it couldn't be easy. The rocks prevented the clones from leaving footprints behind, and the steady rainfall reduced any heat signature they might produce. Rain, combined with darkness, made visibility near zero, even with night-vision. A harsh wind ensured that the rain didn't fall straight down, and The Clone was virtually certain it had found every crack in his armor.

"I'm a walking puddle," one clone commented to another.

"Well, if you get shot, be sure to stand near a droid. Maybe all that water will short its circuits," was the return remark.

"Keep the chatter low, boys," the Captain advised.

He sounded a bit nervous, and the clones he addressed picked up on it and shut up. There wasn't much that could make a clone nervous. They weren't afraid of fighting or dying. So that left one thing: the disapproval of the Jedi.

Hardened by years of training to the point that at times it seemed they were utterly dispossessed of any feelings whatsoever, clones were strangely sensitive to the disdain of their Jedi masters. There was no pain a clone was not willing to endure if he was so required, and most clones believed it was their fate to die at some point anyway, so it seemed that there was nothing a Jedi could do which would faze them. And yet, a harsh word from a Jedi could reduce the toughest soldier to fearful cringing.

The Clone glanced up at General Rtj-lyr. He had served under multiple Jedi, and had learned that they had a wide variety of behavior they expected and enforced. Rtj-lyr, he recognized, was likely a hard master, but he had no reason to think the Jedi was anything but a fair one.

He made a mental note to keep casual comments to himself. Jac was one of those unfortunate clones who'd lost entirely the squad he'd trained with, along with the first commander under whose authority he'd been placed. He had since been shuffled from unit to unit as needed, arriving a stranger and leaving in much the same way, neither fitting in nor standing out, regardless of where he wound up. This was why he'd come to be called JAC, Just Another Clone, in the first place. When he came and when he went, his new commander often asked of his old one what they should expect from him. The old commander would shrug and say "he's just another clone," meaning that there were no outstanding flaws that were worth noting. Or qualities, for that matter.

That made him an exceptional clone, but an average soldier. The best troopers actually deviated from the norm, but in a good way. Then again, the same was true of the worst ones, only in reverse.

The Captain who, best Jac could tell, had no nickname, edged closer to the walker and said something to the Jedi, who dismissed him with a 'shoo' gesture. Visibly crestfallen, the Captain shuffled back to his assigned position, where he seemed to struggle to shake it off.

He'd tried to tell Rtj-lyr that the men were tired, and needed to rest if they were to be any use in battle. The Jedi had made a pointed remark about the questionable toughness of the clones and a direct comment about the Captain's ability to lead and inspire them.

The Captain was used to this. He had never served under anyone but Master Rtj-lyr. He could remember when the reptilian eyed, golden scaled Jedi was of a somewhat kinder disposition. Rtj-lyr was a young Jedi, whose training had been perhaps cut slightly short by the start of the war. The effort had been in desperate need of Generals, and Rtj-lyr's training had suffered for it.

The Captain had served under Rtj-lyr in countless campaigns, and it had not escaped his notice that the Jedi had become ever less forgiving over time, and ever more strict. The Captain struggled to get his men to conform to the Jedi's ludicrously high standards of performance, but it was a losing battle. It seemed that the Captain fell lower in the Jedi's eyes each day, a situation which was at once discouraging and frustrating.

Less than an hour later, the Captain noticed the first of his men beginning to stumble. The slick rock was treacherous, but that wasn't why the trooper had fallen. It was because he was exhausted. They could not continue at this pace in these conditions.

"Sir, the men cannot go without rest for much longer," The Captain said "I recommend seeking temporary shelter in the mountain caves,"

"Have they complained to you?,"

"No, Sir, they have not," The Captain admitted this reluctantly, knowing what would follow.

"Then there is no reason to assume they have reached their limits. We go on until I say otherwise. Do not come whining to me again,"

"Yes sir," The Captain replied miserably, falling back in line once more.

The Jedi knew that not one of the clones would complain. It was not their place to bemoan their fate. The Captain knew Rtj-lyr was aware of this, knew the orders as they stood were unfair. But he could do nothing. As Captain, he had earned the right to offer up suggestions on tactics and the responsibility to keep the men in line, but that was all. His authority stopped far short of arguing the orders of a Jedi.

"How much farther do you think we have to go?," the new clone, Jac, asked of him.

"As far as General Rtj-lyr wants us to go," The Captain replied with as much ferocity as he could muster, pretending he found the question idiotic.

"I see," The Clone said thoughtfully, then went back to his place in line.

The Captain glanced back at the new clone uneasily. It was always the latest addition to the unit who caused all the trouble. Usually they were rookies who either died or eventually fell in line. But this one, this one had experience. Those were the worst ones. Those ones started doing things like thinking. Worse, that tendency had been fostered by previous commanders. That meant only trouble. The Captain shook his head. He'd have to rein that one in hard if he wanted to avoid trouble down the road.

Jac, meanwhile, was thinking things. There was something weird about this unit, though he couldn't decide if it found its origin in the men or their captain. It didn't even cross his mind that the issue might be with the Jedi Master. That was simply out of the question.

They had been pushed to the limits of speed and endurance, on nothing more than the suggestion that Grievous was here somewhere. They were in no shape for a fight now, less and less with every step. This was madness. Worse, it seemed like suicide. Jac didn't like it, not one bit.

But, like the Captain, he was bound to obey the Jedi, no matter how absurd that might seem. All he could do was keep on marching, keep focused on his task, and try to stay alert for potential ambush.

"We'll rest in that cave," The Jedi said finally.

Gratefully, the clones adjusted their course and filed into the cave. The walker stayed outside. Shivering and panting, the clones wasted no time in trying to wring out their wet gear. They checked to see if anything had shaken loose, if any lid had come off and let the rain in. They didn't know how long they'd have to rest, but they weren't about to waste time.

Rtj-lyr made as if to meditate, then some thought must have crossed his mind, because he instead turned to the Captain. A moment later, the Captain picked two clones out of the unit to scout ahead. Jac and one other, who was referred to by number.

The two obeyed, reluctantly leaving the moderately warmer, and much drier, cave for the storm outside. The Captain watched them go and wished, perhaps for the thousandth time, that he had the ability to answer back to the Jedi. Those two he'd sent out might make it back, but they'd be the first to fall as a result of sending them back out there so soon.

"This how things normally are?," Jac asked his traveling companion.

"Oh, I wouldn't know. I just finished training and shipped out a few days before you got assigned here,"

"Really?,"

"Yeah. Half the unit's shiny as I am," he replied.

"Strange," Jac said, thinking aloud "I wonder why that is,"

"I wouldn't know. I just do what I'm told,"

"As do we all, trooper. As do we all,"

* * *

The two clones returned weary and bedraggled, with nothing to report. They had seen no signs of Separatist troops, much less General Grievous. Rtj-lyr was less than pleased with this report.

"You are certain you missed nothing?," he demanded.

"Sure as we can be, Sir," the rookie clone answered.

"By chance, did you scout a shorter distance than you were instructed?,"

"No, Sir," the rookie said adamantly.

"That is...," Rtj-lyr took a deep breath and his yellow eyes narrowed "disappointing,"

"I'm sorry, Sir, but there's nothin' out there far as we could see," Jac spoke for the both of them.

"Very well. We shall remain here for the night, and resume the hunt first thing tomorrow,"

The two scouts were immeasurably relieved. They had not relished the idea of setting out again so soon. Of course, while the other clones were mostly dried out by this time, the two of them had to bed down soaking wet, and still shivering with cold.

Jac decided that it must be the Captain who was unreasonable. He had not heard what the Jedi said to the Captain, but he figured it couldn't be an order to send two travel-weary clones to look for Separatist troops in the dark and rain. It was absurd., plain and simple.


	8. Part 3: Call to Darkness 2

There was no dawn, not really. Just a lightening from pitch black to extremely dark. It was still pouring rain, but the falling water was so cold it was very nearly ice. There wasn't a clone in the unit that wanted any part of it, but not one of them put forth any complaint.

They resumed their march as before, a seemingly endless trek toward nowhere in particular. They knew now why the droid forces hadn't followed them. It was too wet for the average droid, and the cold would freeze them up something awful. Aside from that, there was the wind factor to consider. Bits of grit and small rocks were hurled forcefully through the air, and could easily jam gears. The walker refused to start up, evidently as resentful of the weather as the clones were, but it was less secretive about its feelings. They left it, and went on.

"Keep your men close," Rtj-lyr ordered.

The Captain didn't have to ask if he sensed something, that was obvious. That wasn't good. The scouts had reported nothing. If they found something in the area searched, Rtj-lyr would not be pleased. Even if there was evidence to suggest that whatever it was had not been in the area at the time the scouts had searched it. Rtj-lyr had become most unreasonable in recent campaigns. He was becoming more so all the time. As though to confirm the Captain's worst fears, Rtj-lyr called for the scouts.

"You said you found nothing," Rtj-lyr said.

"That's correct, sir," the rookie clone answered promptly.

"Then what is this I sense?," Rtj-lyr demanded "what is the disturbance ahead?,"

"We found nothing, sir," the rookie said.

"You doubt the Force?,"

"Sir, no, sir!,"

"Then what is it you have failed to reveal!?,"

The young clone shrank before the fury of the Jedi, and did the only thing he could. He repeated that which he had already reported.

"We found nothing,"

Rtj-lyr growled inarticulately and turned to Jac.

"We found nothing," Jac confirmed, without hesitation "perhaps things have changed since last night. We could look again, if the General wants us to,"

"Do not insult me, clone," Rtj-lyr hissed "I will go myself. If you have failed me...," here he trailed off, turning abruptly to the Captain "tell your men to hold position here, and await my return,"

"Yes, sir," the Captain said, but Rtj-lyr had already gone "you heard the man,"

_I suppose,_ Jac thought, _this is another one of those times where a Jedi's orders only seem like nonsense._

After all, wouldn't it make more sense to find caves to wait in?. Or was that just soft thinking?. Jac didn't know, and decided it was best not to think about it too hard.

The clones prepared to settle in for a long wait. Sometimes Jedi returned in minutes, sometimes hours, or even days. Jedi were unpredictable at the best of times, and any sensible clone knew that it was best to be ready to move at any moment, just in case the Jedi returned.

Given nothing else to do, clones have two preferred activities: sleeping and equipment maintenance. Conditions were poor for both, but a little hardship was nothing the clones couldn't handle. About half of them lay down, using their helmets as pillows, while the rest alternately kept watch and checked, double-checked and cleaned their equipment. The repetitive nature of equipment maintenance didn't bother them much, they had been practically raised on repeat. Whatever they did once, they did a thousand times over, at least.

Some time later, they heard the sound of blasters. The sleeping clones snapped awake. Collectively, they assumed defensive positions as they realized the sound was getting closer. The Captain felt a numb dread spreading through him. Rtj-lyr had met with trouble. That was bad. Very bad.

For the _clones_.

It wasn't long before the Jedi arrived on the scene, closely followed by droids. The clones needed no encouragement to open fire on the enemy. But the odds were against them, even with a Jedi in their midst. The clones had been caught out in the open, with no cover to retreat to, and the droids poured into the ravine's entrance literally by the hundreds. They were outnumbered, and trapped.

The sound of blasters firing filled the air, competing with the storm for volume. Now and then, a grenade exploded, a sound not unlike that of thunder. The flash of blaster fire mimicked the lightning slashing through the roiling black clouds overhead. The storm, however, was unending and the battle was doomed to a swift and decisive conclusion before it began.

"Sir, what are we going to do!?," The Captain shouted over the noise "we can't win this fight!,"

"Then go ahead and run!," Rtj-lyr threw back.

"That's not what I meant, sir," The Captain persisted "I don't like retreating, you know that. But dying here won't serve any useful purpose,"

"Then what do you recommend?," Rtj-lyr scoffed "that we surrender?,"

"No, sir. But we could fall back into the caves, get our flanks protected. Then we'd stand some kind of chance," almost no chance was better than absolutely no chance.

"Very well. Tell your men we're retreating,"

The Captain did tell them, but chose the term "falling back" over retreating. Clones hated to retreat. They would claim even the word left a bad taste in their mouth. You'd have to be a clone to know if this were true or not. Obediently, the clones began to fall back, taking it in turns to provide covering fire. Their retreat was executed too quickly to be organized, but they were trying to keep up with the Jedi, who was backing up faster than they could.

"We've got to slow down," Jac yelled "we're dropping like flies!,"

He was either unheeded or unheard, in either case, the clones kept right on backing and falling. At the entrance of the chosen cave, they made their stand, holding the semi-secure position until they were instructed otherwise, or until they ran out of droids. Or clones.

"Quickly, away from the entrance!," Rtj-lyr ordered.

The clones evidently didn't move swiftly enough for his liking, because he gave a couple of them shoves in the right direction. No sooner had the clones gotten clear than Rtj-lyr brought the roof down at the cave entrance by throwing his light-saber and breaking loose the boulders which composed the ceiling. Not only did the ceiling near the entrance cave in, the rest of it seemed hell bent on coming down too. All the clones could do was duck-and-cover and ride it out.

Minutes passed before the debris finished falling. A thick cloud of dust choked the air as the clones arose one by one to take stock of the damages. Were they hurt?. Were their brothers hurt?. Was their equipment damaged?. The Jedi, they knew, was perfectly alright. Jedi could take care of themselves.

Having made note of who was alive and who wasn't, they moved on to the important business of survival. Some began to check the area to see if the ceiling was really done falling, while others endeavored to relocate their General.

"You!," Rtj-lyr came from nowhere, lifting the rookie clone scout using the Force "you lied!,"

"No, sir. No, I didn't!," the clone protested.

"Then you're incompetent!," Rtj-lyr flung the clone down and the hapless trooper bounced off the nearby wall, and fell to his hands and knees.

"There were no droids when I was out there, sir," the clone insisted, albeit somewhat breathlessly.

"You call me a liar with those words. I will not tolerate this," Rtj-lyr snarled dangerously.

He then did what no good Jedi ever would. He lifted the clone, this time in a choke hold. The other clones shrank back in horror, both at their brother's plight and the realization that they could easily share his fate. They looked at one another, wide eyed, unsure what to do. It was a situation they were not equipped to handle. With no other alternative, they stood in pained silence as their brother gasped, choked, suffocating in the grip of one whom he was sworn to serve, and meant to trust.

"Please...," the clone wheezed, but his plea went ignored.

"Sir!. There are tunnels here!," Jac, newly returned from his inspection of the cave, was either oblivious of the situation or chose to pretend he didn't see it "and I can feel a draft. We may have a way out,"

Rtj-lyr dropped the rookie clone, forgetting him for the moment in favor of the opportunity to get out of this death trap. He could call for aid at any time, of course, but that was something he had never done, and had no intention of ever doing. His own pride and arrogance forbade him from taking that course.

"Lead me to them," Rtj-lyr commanded The Clone.

"We're movin' out," The Captain told the other clones, who reluctantly fell in behind him and the Jedi.

The half-choked rookie staggered to his feet slowly, using fallen rocks for support. His brothers didn't help him, they didn't dare. After what they had just witnessed, they knew that they couldn't risk being associated with this clone. To them, there was stark horror in being killed by a Jedi. It was something they were not prepared for, perhaps one of the only things which could well and truly frighten them.

Jac had not missed the entire scene, and could guess well what had happened and why. He made mental note: forgiveness would never be forthcoming, mistakes were not an option. A matter of survival. By so little had his own life been spared. Not that it was really his life he was worried about. But if he was gonna go, he wanted to go out proper, killed by Separatists, not Jedi.

They reached the back of the cave, where there were, sure enough, tunnels. The tunnels were twice as wide as a clone was tall, three times that in height. They were round, and the passages had tight turns. Rtj-lyr looked at them for a long, long time, before finally selecting one to go down.

He sent Jac and the still coughing rookie on ahead. If there was trouble, those two would be the first to find it by a long shot. Their earlier failure would not soon be forgotten, and probably never forgiven.

* * *

"Are you alright?," Jac asked.

"Fine," the younger clone turned away shamefully.

"Hey, we were thorough as we could be. I was there, remember?. We did our jobs. What just happened was uncalled for," Jac said.

"You would question a Jedi?,"

"General Rtj-lyr is not behaving as a Jedi,"

"How can you be so sure?,"

"I've been around Jedi, I've seen what they do. I may not have much in the way of understanding how they act, but I know it when I see it. What just happened to you was not Jedi behavior,"

"What can we do?,"

"There's nothing we can do," Jac replied "tyrant or not, he is still a General. We've got to follow orders, no matter how we feel about it. It's that simple,"

"I guess clones don't have that many options,"

"We have two choices: obedience or desertion. And you know how brothers feel about deserters,"

"I know how _I_ feel about deserters," the younger clone said.

"And yet, now you have a better understanding of why some clones choose that,"

"Because they're cowards, unable to play the hand they've been dealt," was the venomous reply.

_Rookies, _Jac thought, _think they know how the whole galaxy's wired._


	9. Part 3: Call to Darkness 3

"We've come to a fork in the tunnels, General. Shall we go left or right?,"

"_It makes no difference. Use this radio again, and I'll do more than choke you. I'll kill you,"_

The Clone looked to his alarmed brother and shrugged.

"He doesn't want us to use the radio," Jac said mildly "so, which tunnel do you like better?,"

"I don't like either of them," the other clone replied, shaking his head "either way could be a dead end,"

The double meaning was not lost on Jac. The Jedi said it made no difference, but it made a big difference to the clones. The choice was left to them, it was their responsibility if things went badly in their chosen direction. Rtj-lyr did not forgive mistakes.

The dejected scouts stood looking first at each other, then at the fork in the tunnels. They had to make a decision somehow. Jac started down the left tunnel, went for a few feet, and examined it. He wasn't sure what he was looking for. The roof and walls seemed solid enough, the floor unmarred. But it was all solid rock, so how could you tell if something dangerous lay ahead?.

He turned around and took a look at the other tunnel. There, he found his difference. When his light hit the tunnel, a number Astro droid-sized insects scattered. In their panic, a number of them fled the light, and ran right past the clones. The scuffling and scurrying was loud, but harmless.

"Animals this way," Jac observed "they must go to the surface sometime,"

"What makes you think that?,"

"Something I heard once. At any rate, it seems as good a guess as any, right?,"

"I suppose so. I'll mark the tunnel, so they know which way we went,"

"Nah, you better go back and tell them. I expect they'll want to wait here while we check on ahead," Jac told him "I'll wait for you to get back,"

"You sure you don't want to tell them,"

"Don't be a coward. Jedi don't shoot the messenger, and you're not bringing bad news anyway,"

"But you told me-,"

"Move!,"

"Okay, okay, I'm going,"

Jac shook his head. Rookies were like sponges, absorbing everything that happened to them, committing it to memory, dwelling on it. What happened right out of the gate stayed with a clone forever. Later on, experience would tell him what was worth remembering and what wasn't. Most things weren't worth recalling, and were best left forgotten.

Jac took a moment to inspect the cave life. A sort of moss had grown on the damp walls, the large insects seemed to be eating the moss. Having recovered from their alarm, they were now busily grazing, their feathery feelers waving in the air like flags, giving them early warning of anything which was rushing towards them.

"At least you guys aren't carnivorous," Jac observed aloud.

This brought an uneasy thought to his mind. Where there were herbivores, there were usually carnivores. And when it came to insect life, the predators were usually larger than their prey. Jac went to the tunnel wall, and examined it more closely. Now he was looking for something specific, and he sure found it. No underground river had made these, nor any machinery. Something alive had dug these tunnels. Something decidedly _big_.

_That's not good,_ Jac thought.

As though its arrival was brought on by Jac's thoughts, a massive shape appeared around the corner of the tunnel. Jac turned his light on it, and immediately regretted it. He got little more than an impression. A huge, multi-legged monstrosity, covered in black bristles and equipped with a number of glowing red eyes. It emitted a sound not unlike that of a piece of metal being torn in two, and then sprang into the tunnel. Its bulk filled the space, and it shuffled towards The Clone with remarkable speed for its apparent awkwardness, moving to close the gap between them in seconds.

Jac opened fire on the beast, doing his best to aim for the eyes. At the same time, he fell back, giving ground in order to keep distance between himself and the enraged behemoth. He kept thinking he had a clear shot at the monster's eyes, but each time he fired, there would suddenly be a leg in his way, or the creature rocked itself forward and the shot bounced off its tough hide.

It made the metal-tearing sound again as it advanced, clearly seeing The Clone as an intruder rather than a meal, though it was big enough to swallow him whole, if it wanted to. By now he could see its arachnid mandibles, which clacked together eagerly, reaching out for him even as he fought to maintain some kind of distance from the monster.

The back of his mind was absurdly glad he'd made the rookie report back. Clones weren't naturally inclined towards retreat. Every fiber of their being was dead-set against it. A less experienced clone might have tried to stand his ground, even once he realized this was futile. But Jac knew better. It wouldn't do anyone any good if he died here, and he wasn't making a dent with his shots. He wasn't even slowing the thing down.

He had two choices. One, he could get back to the others, try and warn them. Two, he could take the other fork and try to lead the monster away from his comrades. The latter choice appealed to him, but he knew that it was unwise. If he died somewhere in the other tunnel, the others would know nothing of the danger they were in. They would know only that he had disappeared.

It didn't occur to him to use the radio. The Jedi had forbidden its use, and there was nothing that could make the clone employ something he had been ordered by a Jedi not to use. To him, the radio had basically ceased to exist. In his mind, it would be as nothing until he was given permission to use it.

With every part of him screaming in protest, Jac turned and ran. He was faster than the bug, something he had realized as he was backing away. If he could maintain a distance running backward, he could increase the distance by turning and doing it right.

It wasn't long before he found the rest of the group. He at once performed an about face and dropped to one knee, a silent but effective warning to all the others that trouble was following at his heels. The clones all assumed defensive positions, as the Jedi asked what the trouble was.

"Don't know for sure, Sir. A large predator, arachnid, and very angry," Jac replied.

"And you brought it here!," Rtj-lyr hissed.

"Didn't have much choice," Jac said quietly "my shots had no effect. You told me not to use the radio, so this was the only way I could warn you,"

"I'll deal with you later," the words hung ominously in the air as the creature rounded a bend in the tunnel and came into full view, screeching and lumbering towards them at a high rate of speed.

"Open fire!," The Jedi commanded.

The troopers obeyed. At first, nothing seemed to be making any kind of impression on the creature, then one clone got a lucky hit near the beast's eyes and it screamed, rearing back on its four rear legs. The upper part of its body smashed into the roof, and the tunnel itself seemed to tremble as huge boulders fell from the ceiling and shattered on the floor. Clones staggered as the floor heaved, and ducked as debris was hurled at them like missiles. As soon as they regained their feet and a more secure position, they resumed fire. The creature reared again, its forelegs striking at the walls, bringing more rocks tumbling down.

"General, it's going to bring this whole place down on our heads!," The Captain shouted "we need a plan. What are your orders?. Sir!. What do you want us to do?!,"

The Jedi stood at the center of it all, yet was not a part of it, somehow far away and long beyond the reaches of the creature, even as it stood mere feet from him. Then, suddenly, a terrible look came into his eyes, a look which could have frightened even another Jedi. He threw both arms up, palms out. He closed his hands, and brought his arms straight down.

The result was total ceiling collapse. Cries of pain and alarm filled the air, the creature's roar louder than any of the others. Darkness enveloped the tunnel as lights were smashed or knocked out by impact. All the world seemed to be a giant avalanche of rock and dust, chaos above it all. And then everything was still. Silence reclaimed its sovereignty over the caves.

The Captain was the first clone to dig himself out from where he'd been buried. Battered and bloodied, but still in one piece, he sat coughing and choking, looking about him, eyes searching for Rtj-lyr, secretly hoping to find that the Jedi had somehow died.

But such was not the case. Rtj-lyr stood, unharmed, at the center of the disaster area, looking down on the mess which he had created, and the creature he had slain. Then he looked past the dead beast, and a look of anger crossed his face. The tunnel had been blocked. They would have to backtrack, and try a different route. But to the Captain, that was much less frightening than the fact that the Jedi was angry. The Captain knew very little about Jedi, but he knew enough to realize that you did not want to be anywhere near one when they were angry.

* * *

The march back to the main part of the cave had been a slow, depressing one. Even though the creature which had attacked them was dead, the clones couldn't help but feel they had somehow been defeated. The beast might be dead, but it had still managed to drive them back, to force them to find another way around. The beast had won, even though it had paid with its life.

When they settled in for the night, the other clones purposely avoided bedding down anywhere near Jac or the other scout. The Jedi was angry with those two, and the clones now shunned them because they knew of nothing else to do. To associate with them would be to bring the Jedi's wrath down on their own heads, something which they could not face.

"Looks like we're pariahs now," the rookie said.

"You can be a pariah," Jac mumbled, already half-asleep "I'm just another clone,"


	10. Part 4: Into the Black 1

The Clone woke up hungry. For three days, he'd had nothing to eat. Neither had any of his brothers. For two weeks now, they'd been wandering the tunnels beneath the surface of Aakaria, looking for a way out. Their radios worked, but the Jedi Master commanding them had forbid them to use the radio.

And so they went on through the dark, their rations dwindling to almost nothing, and then disappearing entirely. It was only the steady flow of rain above that caused stone "bowls" of water to form near the cave walls, providing enough to keep the clones moving. This had been meant to be a short mission. The clones had been told to pack light on the rations and heavy on the artillery. So far, they'd used their weapons only a few times, and each time had regretted it as the world came crashing, quite literally, down around them as a result.

Jedi Master Glyr Rtj-lyr drove the clones on as if they had somewhere to go, like they knew where they were going. While he had initially sent clones to scout ahead, he now did this himself. He evidently blamed the scouts for finding dead ends and disturbing Mityars, the large, aggressive arachnids who had dug these tunnels.

Down one tunnel and up another, sometimes finding out that they were going in circles, the clone troopers loyally followed their General's lead. There weren't all that many of them left now. After all their losses in battling droids on the surface and Mityars below, their numbers had dwindled down to less than twenty, including the Jedi.

The clone Captain was still alive, as was the scout, who had lately picked up the name 'Pariah'. He had originally referred to himself as being one, and the rest of the clones were quick to pick up on the monicker. It was fitting, as the Jedi had inexplicably picked him out as the vent for all frustrations. If something went wrong, surely Pariah must have something to do with it, the lazy, lying, incompetent loser. Name calling seemed to have become Rtj-lyr's favorite pastime. When he wasn't leading the clones in circles, he was berating them for various crimes of inadequacy.

This one was too slow, that one didn't properly care for his weapon, the other couldn't hit the broadside of a Mityar... and so on. Jac had managed to escape the majority of these scathing reviews, by simply being the least interesting clone of the lot. He actively avoided standing out in any way. If a clone was notably good at something, he would be picked out of the lineup to do something which might or might not be related to the thing he was good at. When he inevitably failed in the eyes of the Jedi, he became an object of scorn. If a clone did a less than exceptional job on something, he was picked out as a troublemaker. Pariah's only crime was being a rookie, this was his first time out in the field.

"Time to continue our mad dash to nowhere," Pariah grumbled to Jac.

Jac was the only clone he could speak to these days. The rest avoided him, simply because the Jedi didn't like him. Being associated with someone Rtj-lyr didn't like was something akin to suicide. Jac was already tainted by proximity, so talking to Pariah couldn't hurt him at this point.

"We're not going nowhere," The Clone corrected him "we're following General Rtj-lyr,"

"Yeah, and he's leading us nowhere. Fast," Pariah pointed out bleakly.

"Now what kind of attitude is that for a trooper to have?," Jac asked, getting to his feet and offering his disconsolate comrade a hand "come on, get up and do your job,"

"Job. Ha. That's a laugh," Pariah moaned, accepting the hand even as he did so "I don't think I've got one. What does it matter if one clone more or less wanders through these tunnels?,"

"You're just not a team player," Jac said sarcastically.

"Cut the chatter boys," The Captain said, striding toward them "and fall in, we're movin' out,"

"Yes sir,"

* * *

The daily slog through the tunnels had yielded no better results than previous days. Rtj-lyr had driven the clones into exhaustion, then pushed them still further, and, at some time of his own choosing, finally deigned to stop.

They were low on water, so three clones were sent out with canteens to search for some. Pariah and Jac were among them, to no one's surprise. The Captain went also, perhaps to prove that he would not ask his men to do something he was unwilling to do himself.

"We'll split up. Each man take some canteens," The Captain said, further saying that they would meet back here at a stated time. If any of them had found water, they would let the others know.

Jac and Pariah weren't exactly thrilled by the idea of splitting up. Too much could happen. Specifically, they could run into trouble and, were they alone at the time, all blame would fall on them if anything was lost or damaged, or if said trouble found its way to the camp. But they were too tired to argue, and it was against their training anyhow.

Later, Jac and Pariah returned at the appointed time, but there was no sign of the Captain.

"Did you find anything?," Pariah asked hopefully.

"No. I think we're in too deep. I haven't seen moss on the walls for hours," Jac replied "I don't think there's water this far down,"

"We shouldn't be going deeper," Pariah worried "we're supposed to be finding a way out,"

"These tunnels were made by Mityars. There's no telling how their minds work. Maybe the way out goes down deep first. You know how these tunnels wind about,"

"I know it," Pariah spat irritably "and I also know we're dying down here,"

"Don't you think that's just a slight exaggeration?. We're not finished,"

"Not yet, anyway," Pariah sulked.

"Where's the Captain?," Jac asked, changing the subject "he should have been back by now,"

"Hopefully having better luck than us," Pariah muttered.

Jac didn't respond to this. Instead, he sat down on a boulder to wait. Pariah reluctantly took a seat also. They could not return without the Captain. In fact, now they thought about it, did they dare return without water?. Rtj-lyr had already threatened to kill the both of them for lesser infractions.

Jac briefly entertained the idea of continuing the search for water. But leaving the area would be disobeying the Captain. There wasn't a good alternative, so Jac chose to simply follow his orders and hope for the best. He stated his intentions when Pariah brought the subject up some minutes later.

"Are you sure we should wait?. He's been gone a long time. Maybe he's not coming back at all,"

"You want to be the one to tell the General?," Jac asked pointedly.

That shut Pariah up but good.

The waiting continued.

At last, just when the two clones were beginning to reconsider their decision to wait, the Captain returned. It seemed he had found water. Much relieved, Jac and Pariah followed him through a maze of tunnels to the source of water to fill the canteens they were carrying.

Jac noted with mild surprise that the tunnel wasn't far from where they'd started the search for water. The Captain explained that he'd gone up and down several tunnels, determined to keep looking until he was successful. Jac found nothing to argue with. Rtj-lyr was moderately annoyed by how long it had taken them to get back, but at least he wasn't furious. He let them go unscathed, save for a few biting remarks about their relative reliability.

The clones could live with that. In almost no time at all, they were curled up on the ground amidst their identical brothers, knowing that it wouldn't be long before they had to get up and begin the whole thing over again. They knew also that they wouldn't be able to keep it up much longer. The Jedi might be able to go on almost indefinitely, courtesy of the Force, but the clones could not.

In the morning, before the others were up, the Captain made the following appeal to Rtj-lyr:

"We're only clones, Sir. The men need more rest than this. If we keep going at this rate, we'll be dead by the end of the week,"

Rtj-lyr's response was direct, his tone laced with disgust:

"What does it matter to me where you die?. You can die here for all I care. Stay here, if you think it will help, but don't come crawling to me later on,"

The Captain, given the option of staying here and dying or following the Jedi in more pointless circles, chose the latter. At least that way he could pretend he was still doing something useful. He could at least pretend they had a chance to survive.

* * *

Near the middle of their daily march, they passed through the large cave where they had been trapped the first day. Not a one of them commented on it, though all cast thoughtful glances at the blocked entrance. The droids they had battled there were almost definitely gone. All they had to do was figure out how to unblock the entrance. There wasn't one among them who didn't consider in his mind where explosives would need to be placed to make the opening a reality once more.

But they all remembered what had happened to the last clone to suggest such a thing. That clone... was no longer among their number. And so they went on, following the Jedi without slowing down or looking back. Just keep marching. That's all they could do. Keep marching.

Rtj-lyr either didn't recognize the cave, or was pretending he didn't. He started down yet another tunnel, one which the clones knew well by now. They'd been down it two or three times already. There were several forks farther on, but all led to the same place: nowhere.

The Captain, who was taking up the rear, hesitated near the entrance of the tunnel. Briefly, he looked back towards the cave. The temptation to go back was almost too much. But only death lay in that direction, if they didn't have the approval of the Jedi. They would be traitors, clones who turned on their master. It didn't matter why they did it. At the end of the day, they were still just clones.

Nothing more, nothing less.

He was broken from his reverie by the sound of digging, coming from outside. For a moment, he held perfectly still. He had to be sure. There it was again. Yes, someone was digging their way in.

"General!. Someone is opening the cave!," The Captain shouted, a cry which was echoed in the form of an excited question by all of the other troopers "we have a way out!,"


	11. Part 4: Into the Black 2

At Rtj-lyr's behest, the clones assumed defensive positions. It was possible that they were about to encounter something unfriendly. The droids could be back, or perhaps a Mityar had returned to find its burrow entrance blocked and was digging its way inside. You couldn't be too careful.

The Captain read between the lines and heard what Rtj-lyr didn't say. They had come here hunting Grievous. Rtj-lyr wasn't interested in leaving until they found the evil General. That's why they had been wandering. Rtj-lyr hadn't been looking for a way out, he'd been looking for signs that Separatist troops were hiding somewhere in these caverns to avoid the weather outside.

His determination was admirable, but his judgment poor.

A voice carried through the rocks, muffled but recognizable.

"Glyr!. Glyr, are you in there?," the voice belonged to General Kenobi.

"I am here," Rtj-lyr called back, then turned on the clones in inexplicable fury "which of you called them?. Who broke radio silence?,"

The clones didn't answer, looking at one another and getting the impression that they were all baffled by the accusation. It wasn't long before all eyes turned on Pariah. The clones had learned from their master that, if anyone was to blame, it was most likely him.

"You!," Rtj-lyr growled, pointing at the spot-lighted clone.

Pariah shied away, trying to inch his way behind Jac, the only clone who had not implicated him by default. Well, not the only clone. The Captain looked on from a distance, his shoulders sagging wearily.

"I didn't do anything," Pariah defended himself, but his voice shook.

Neither denial of guilt nor reasonable defense were enough to protect him, and he knew it.

"It wasn't him," The Captain spoke at last, managing not to flinch when Rtj-lyr turned on him in fury "I'm the one who called for aid,"

"I trusted you!. You know we didn't need help," Rtj-lyr spat "it was you who marked the rocks to look like droids had done it. You led me here,"

"Yes sir," The Captain replied "you may not believe it, but I did it for you,"

"For me!?. No, you did it for them!. Your worthless so-called brothers!," at this Rtj-lyr threw his arm out in the general direction of the clones.

In his anger, Rtj-lyr had called upon the Force. In his frustration, he flung the clones back against the cave walls. There they fell. Shaking their heads and using the wall for support, they tried to regain their breath. Something inside Pariah suddenly snapped.

This wasn't punishing a clone who had done wrong, or even been accused of doing wrong. It had been a direct attack of clones who were nothing but innocent bystanders. They had done nothing wrong, nor even been so much as accused of wrong doing.

It happened in the space of a second. As Rtj-lyr was turning back towards the Captain, to say or do who knew what, several things happened. Pariah raised his blaster, intent on shooting the Jedi in the back. At the same time, the entrance blockage suddenly fell away, drawing the Jedi's attention. As Rtj-lyr side-stepped towards the opening, the Captain caught sight of Pariah, and raised his own weapon.

Those outside saw him, and assumed he was aiming for Rtj-lyr. Even as the Captain fired, so too did Commander Cody and three other clones. But the Captain's shot still got through. The first hit Pariah squarely between the eyes and the young clone dropped like a sack of bricks. The second went wide, nearly hitting the other clones as they ducked the fire. The Captain fell too, shot full of enough holes to kill ten clones. It was over almost before it started. Even as he knew it would do no good, Jac cried a warning to the Captain. He reached the Captain's side almost before the clone had fallen.

"You didn't have to kill him!," one of the standing clones wailed "It was Pariah that you should have shot!. Why didn't you shoot him instead!?,"

"Put the blasters away, boys," Cody told his men coolly "we're done shooting here,"

He didn't say anything about the fallen Captain, and avoided looking at the dead clone entirely. If he was upset, he didn't show it. If anyone had asked how he felt about his mistake, he would have said that he could not have acted otherwise, given the information he had at the time. He could not have seen Pariah from his position, and could not have been certain the clone Captain was truly loyal. He'd seen clones turn traitor before.

"These clones are terrified," Obi-Wan Kenobi quietly said to Cody "and I don't think you're the cause,"

"Perhaps there's something in these tunnels we don't know about," Cody replied evenly.

"Maybe. Check for wounded, then get these men out of here,"

"Yes sir,"

Obi-Wan then turned his attention to Rtj-lyr, who stood looking down at the fallen clone Captain, his face expressionless. Jac still knelt beside the Captain, even though he knew the other clone was dead. In his mind, Jac wondered if there might not have been something he could have done to prevent this from happening. Pariah shouldn't have died. Nor should the Captain. There was no good reason for this. In fact, there seemed to be no reason at all.

"Are you alright?," Obi-Wan asked of Rtj-lyr.

"We couldn't find General Grievous," was the cold reply "we wandered for days, but we never found him. I'm beginning to think he wasn't here at all,"

"You've been trapped here that long?. Why didn't you call for aid?,"

"There was no reason to. We were doing just fine without help," Rtj-lyr spat this remark, and then roughly brushed past Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan stood for a moment, thoroughly confused and unsettled. Something wasn't right here.

"He shouldn't have done it," Jac murmured.

"Done what?," Obi-Wan asked, not sure if The Clone was referring to the Captain or the Jedi.

"General Rtj-lyr didn't want us using the radio. He shouldn't have done it. He must have done it while we were separated. Why did he do it?. What for?. So he could get killed by his own kind?," Jac shook his head miserably "there had to have been another way,"

"Hold on. You're saying Glyr told you not to use the radio?. There wasn't anything hindering your transmissions?," Obi-Wan demanded.

Hearing the displeasure in the Jedi's voice, The Clone flinched visibly, seeming to withdraw further into himself. It was a little before he managed to answer the question.

"No sir. Our radios work fine. Even when we were in deep, they worked fine,"

"Then why did you break radio contact?. And why didn't you call for aid?," Obi-Wan persisted.

"We had our orders, sir. The lot of us. And we followed them. Even Pariah,"

"Pariah?,"

This question was answered with a vague gesture in the direction of the other dead clone.

"Pariah?," Obi-Wan repeated the name.

"It's what he was," The Clone replied quietly "wasn't his fault. But it's what he was,"

* * *

The Clone's words concerned Obi-Wan, but not nearly enough. Obi-Wan spoke with Jedi Masters Mace Windu and Yoda, but his depiction of the events was not nearly graphic enough to make them inclined to take drastic measures. Instead, it was generally agreed upon that Rtj-lyr had seen too much combat of late. After some deliberation, it was Yoda who suggested relegating Rtj-lyr to the ships in orbit around Aakaria. These ships had the often dull, but nonetheless critical, job of preventing Separatist ships from landing and providing additional forces to the ground effort.

Rtj-lyr liked this not at all, yet he did little more than complain to his troops, blaming his new position on the death of the Captain. He said that he couldn't be expected to go into battle without some clone in charge of keeping the rest out of his way. This wasn't true, and the lot of them knew it, but not one clone spoke up in protest or attempted to correct Rtj-lyr.

Being on the ship gave Rtj-lyr things to do other than dampen his clone's spirits. For instance, he could stand on the bridge and voice depressing, and disturbing, thoughts to whoever would listen.

The clones were not left idle, however. They were sort of extra troops, who didn't have a permanent position. They would normally be left to their own devices for the most part, so they would be fresh for any battle which took place in the vastness of space. There were fighter ships in the hanger for that exact purpose, fighters which the clones who were assigned to fly in them had to maintain.

In addition to that, Rtj-lyr "volunteered" them to work maintenance with the regular crew.

"From front lines to cleanup in the docking bay," the complaint was voiced by one clone to another, and only when no one but other clones was around.

"Just be glad you've lived to see this day," was the stoic reply "just think, you could have been Pariah,"

"It's his fault we're reduced to droid work," the complainer returned "if it weren't for him, the Captain would still be alive, and we'd still be down there where the real action is,"

"If the Captain hadn't used the radio, Pariah wouldn't have been pushed into turning traitor," was the argument made by the second clone.

"If he hadn't used the radio, we'd still be down in those tunnels, starving to death," this comment was made by Jac, and it effectively ended this line of conversation.

* * *

Somehow, no matter what you do to avoid it, trouble always finds its way, slipping under doors and through cracks, arriving when you least expect it, waiting in your living room for you to get home and find it, or seeking you out elsewhere when it becomes impatient. At least, that is how trouble often seems. As though it is a living, breathing entity which one simply cannot avoid, nor deter once it has set its sights.

Even as Obi-Wan had eased his own mind in pulling Rtj-lyr from the ground, with the intention of giving the young Jedi distance from his obsession, General Grievous had been dispatched to sabotage the cruisers hovering over Aakaria. It is doubtful the General was ever even on the planet to begin with.

General Grievous, though unarguably unsound of mind, was no fool. The ships were far from defenseless, even on the inside, loaded down as they were with clones meant to pilot fighters in space. Those pilots doubtless were equipped with weapons and training which was equal to that of the clones on the ground. Aside from which, the clones on cruisers were typically well-fed and well-rested, making them more formidable than half-starved, exhausted ground troops who were suffering heat stroke or, alternatively, shivering with cold.

He knew also that General Kenobi had a squadron hanging around, just looking for a fight. Grievous didn't like the odds of survival. Surely, the ships could be sabotaged, but escape afterwords seemed questionable. Better to delegate this messy business to someone who wouldn't be missed.

He knew, of course, that droids alone couldn't get the job done. They were too stupid, and too noisy. Rather than send them in alone, he chose to employ Reg Olith. Olith was young, brash, foolhardy and almost entirely expendable. Grievous had picked him up near the outer rim. Olith had been just looking for trouble, but it had seemed disinterested in the youngster from Alderaan. How such a blood thirsty lad had managed to come from Alderaan, Grievous neither knew nor cared.

Initially, he'd held some hope that Olith would prove valuable with a little discipline. Experience, however, had proven Olith was immune to such tactics, remaining as brazen as ever. By his own character, Olith had doomed himself to a short life. Even without Grievous leveraging him along, Olith would, sooner or later, have tangled with someone more powerful than he.

Olith's arrogance blinded him to the fact that Grievous was sending him in with the expectation that Olith would not survive the endeavor. Olith was one of those specimens who believed himself capable of accomplishing anything, no matter how impossible it seemed.

In this case, that suited the General fine. All he had to do was sit back and watch Olith destroy himself, and hopefully the Republic ships standing guard over Aakaria in the process. At the very least, he could weaken the cruisers to the point that a ship-to-ship confrontation would end in sure victory for Grievous.

But there was one thing he didn't count on. For on the largest cruiser, the one chosen for the sabotage mission, there was a young Jedi whose own pride and belief in his own immortality was every bit equal to that of Olith. A clash between the two was inevitable, and sure to end badly for both of them.


	12. Part 4: Into the Black 3

The first sign of trouble was during a shift change. Jac and the other clones serving under Rtj-lyr had barely stumbled out of bed and gotten into uniform. They looked bright and alert, but they moved and spoke mechanically, they were not yet fully awake. They would liven up in a few minutes, certainly by the time they started working, but for now, looking competent would have to suffice.

Today, they had been assigned to work near the ship's engine, maintaining the equipment there, and replacing anything that was beyond repair. It was work that could technically be done with droids. But, whenever there was the chance, it was preferable to have living people look the stuff over. Droids tended to be thorough and almost never made mistakes, but they didn't tend to look for unexpected damage. If something wore out that they were not programmed to check, or if it was damaged in a way that their standard methods didn't detect, it could spell doom for the cruiser and all aboard.

Still, clones couldn't help but find the work demeaning. They were meant for combat, not cleaning detail. In fact, they tended to view it as a kind of punishment, and it often was. But that was no reason not to do their job to the best of their ability. They'd just complain about it amongst themselves.

Except Jac. Among the clones serving under Rtj-lyr, he had become the replacement for Pariah. Besides his tendency to associate with the deceased, Jac also typically had a different view on almost anything from the others. His experience caused him to measure situations more carefully, and to tactically consider all angles. The accepted method of handling a problem was not always his preferred one. And so, Jac tended to work alone. He found a spot away from the clones and did his job, avoiding contact with them as much as possible.

It was this aversion to his fellow clones that caused Jac to do other than what clones (and droids) normally did. Instead of starting at one end of the room and working his way to the other, he picked a spot somewhere in the middle. At first, he didn't notice anything too remarkable. There were some cables that were in severe need of being replaced, but that alone wasn't enough to raise any suspicions in his mind. Not even knowing that these were the power cables for the proximity alarm for the core.

In fact, he didn't think about that at all. Instead, he simply located a maintenance droid and dispatched it to fetch new cables. While he waited, Jac moved on to inspecting and maintaining other pieces of equipment. Then the damaged cables began to nag at him. This ship was well maintained in all other respects. The dreadful condition of the cables was inexplicable.

Jac went back for another look. A closer one this time. At first, he'd only casually examined them, enough to know it wasn't worth it to try and repair them. This time, he made a closer inspection. This examination revealed tampering, intentional damage to the cables.

That meant only one thing.

A less experienced clone might have gone to check if there were intruders to the core area, or called the guards near the core. But Jac knew better. When it came to sabotage, seconds counted. He didn't even pause to speak to the other clones in the room, but went directly to the emergency button and hit it, and a moment later was detailing his suspicions to the alarmed officer on the bridge.

The alarm and flashing emergency lights were then added to by a clone voice announcing over speakers that there were intruders on board, suspected to be somewhere between the engine room and the power core.

"Hey, what are you up to now?," one of the others asked accusingly "haven't you caused enough trouble for one life time?,"

"I haven't _caused_ anything," Jac explained "come on. We've got an intruder on board,"

"Only intruder I see is you, calling yourself a clone,"

"I never called myself anything," Jac said evenly "people around me never needed my help doin' that,"

It was fortunate that clones were given to obeying orders, regardless of what they were or where they originated. A number of Jedi's lives had been saved by this, as they unknowingly gave orders which made no sense to the clones, to the point of them thinking they had been ordered to commit mass suicide. But, though they might be given to grumble amongst themselves about their orders, clones did not disobey or disregard them.

Trouble found them at the doors to the core area. A squad of droids had been standing guard there, having expected the arrival of clone troops from the start, and knowing that it wouldn't be long as soon as they heard the alarm. Droids might be dim bulbs, but they weren't entirely clueless. Just close.

"Blast them!," the droids opened fire as the clones took what scant cover the corridor offered.

"I thought you said _an_ intruder!," yelled one clone "As in one!,"

"These aren't intruders, they're packing material!," Jac shouted back good-naturedly.

"What!?,"

"The intruder is inside the core area," Jac said "the droids are on the outside. So-,"

"Shut up, I get it,"

The clones had destroyed most of the droids by the time Rtj-lyr arrived with another squadron.

"You keep the droids busy," Rtj-lyr ordered them collectively "the intruder is mine,"

To this, the clones did not object. They knew it was likely that the intruder was whatever the opposite of a Jedi was. The only thing more terrifying than a Jedi was an enemy possessed of the same mysterious power they referred to as the Force. Clones would engage such an enemy, certainly, but if they could leave it to a Jedi, that was their preferred tactic.

Rtj-lyr cut his way through the droids, who were now appearing from other guard positions, drawn by the sounds of the fight. He didn't bother to destroy them, just to get past them. In his eagerness, he failed to take any kind of note on the nature of the intruder he was running to fight. Otherwise, he might have been less inclined to rush to battle.

For the intruder was not Grievous, or any Sith Lord, but a mere man in a suit of armor carrying a blaster. It was not even so fancy as the armor of the clones, but it looked like it did the job. Rtj-lyr could not see his opponent's face, but he didn't have to.

He was surprised by his own emotion on seeing his foe for the first time. It was instant, passionate loathing. He hated this person, even though he didn't know them. He despised what he saw, because it was a pure reflection of himself. Rtj-lyr did not shout for the saboteur to stop, but merely drew his light-saber and went on the attack.

Reg Olith anticipated his move, having seen the scaly face contort with undisguised rage. In fact, Olith had been uncertain that this was a Jedi until he saw the light-saber, the expression was so uncharacteristic of the breed. Olith dodged out of the way of Rtj-lyr's first strike with the light-saber, and brought his own weapon into play.

A blaster is more forgiving of a wild attack than is a light-saber, and Olith was more pleased than angry anyway. He had secretly hoped for a chance at a Jedi, confident in his own ability to defeat them.

Rtj-lyr blocked the shots with his light-saber, and his fury mounted as he found himself forced to go on the defensive instead of the offensive. In response to this feeling, he advanced on Olith, even as he continued blocking his adversary's attack. Olith, for his part, backed away rapidly.

It was during this strange dance that a blast bounced off Rtj-lyr's light-saber and found its way to the core. An emergency warning siren sounded, adding itself to the din of the intruder alarm. Steam poured from the damaged area, followed by a dangerous flare up of blue fire.

With some horror, Rtj-lyr realized that he had just done the saboteur's work for him. He hesitated for a moment, glancing uneasily at the intermittent flame. Olith took this opportunity to make his exit. He dashed from the area, and would have walked right into a pack of clones had their not still been droids left standing. As it was, he managed to slip past them, or most of them.

Jac noticed him, and knew at once that this was no Sith Lord. That leveled the playing field. Though the emergency siren was screaming, Jac had no way of knowing if the ship was well and truly doomed. He made a split-second decision to go after the intruder, lest they do more damage.

"Where the hell is he going?," one clone snarled angrily "the fight ain't over,"

Jac pursued Olith down several corridors, and realized that they were heading for a launch bay. He reported this via radio, recommending the area be sealed to prevent the intruder's escape. It was then that he learned the ship was not only doomed, but was lurching towards one of the other ships faster than the other could get out of the way. All hands were abandoning ship.

Reluctantly, The Clone broke off his pursuit and turned back to let his fellow troopers know. The loudspeaker near the core had been damaged in the firefight, so they didn't know that they were meant to be getting off the ship. They didn't know they were supposed to disengage the enemy.

Halfway back, Jac ran into Rtj-lyr, and tried to tell the Jedi that the ship was going to explode. The Jedi didn't let him get a word in edgewise, instead ordering him to follow to the launch bay. The Clone bent to the Jedi's will without protest, even as he knew that the intruder was already as good as gone, and they would both be killed if they didn't get off this tub.

When they entered the bay, they found that Olith had been lying in wait for Jac, and would surely have killed him, had the Jedi not been there. As it was, Olith fired his blaster, but the shot bounced off a carefully placed light-saber. The fight, which had begun near the core, continued.

There wasn't much for Jac to do, truth be known, save take cover and look for a clear shot. But Rtj-lyr and Olith moved around one another so fast that there wasn't one. Then the ship groaned and shook sickeningly. Ceiling supports came crashing down, and flames erupted in various places.

Jac was thrown to the floor as the great ship shuddered again, then its bow hit the other ship broadside with tremendous force. Jac was flung against a bulkhead. His vision swam, and he lost his grip on his rifle. Smoke filled the launch bay, he could hardly see.

Groping in the near darkness, Jac struggled back to his feet. He saw a still form nearby, and swiftly identified it as that of Rtj-lyr. He staggered over to the prone Jedi, the ship bucking beneath his feet. Rtj-lyr was unconscious. Olith was gone.

Jac lifted the Jedi, and pulling an arm around his shoulders so that he could more easily carry the dead weight. As swiftly as the pitching ship would allow, he made his way to a fighter. He put Rtj-lyr in the gunner's seat and took the pilot's for himself.

_This'll be fun_, he thought sarcastically.

The force shields which kept air inside the ship were beginning to flicker as their power faded. A single shot at the control panel brought them all the way down and Jac piloted the fighter off the ground and out of the launch bay, a task which was easier said than done as his exit bounced around. It was like threading a needle with thick thread and shaky hands.

But they made it out.

It was then that Jac discovered he had a new problem. Grievous, seeing that chaos reigned on the Republic ships, took his chance to come and destroy what remained of the fleet. Jac had managed to fire a single shot to get them out, but he couldn't hope to dodge fire and return it at the same time.

He was virtually defenseless inside the fighter.

"I was always told there'd be days like this," Jac muttered to himself, fighting the controls.

He was a trained pilot, but he had nothing of the skill that Jedi often showed. He could have used a little of that piloting skill about now, but he had to do without.

"Who's fighter is that?," Obi-Wan asked, noticing the stray fighter dangerously near the blazing ships.

"_It's one of ours,"_ was a report of a pilot nearer the craft _"I dunno who it is. Looks like the gunner's dead, it's not shooting back,"_

Obi-Wan's response to this was to lend the unfortunate fighter some defense with himself and another fighter closing on either side of the defenseless one, both drawing fire and returning it. As soon as he was able, the pilot identified himself. It turned out that his so-called "gunner" was not dead, merely unconscious.

"Get yourself out of this mess," Obi-Wan instructed "you can't do any good out here,"

"_Roger that,_ General," was the relieved sounding reply.

* * *

The Republic forces had managed to back Grievous down, if only barely. A fresh fleet of ships had arrived at just the right time. Though Grievous didn't know it, Olith had escaped with his life.

On awakening, Rtj-lyr received a report on what had happened, and what his clone had done, but not by Jac. Obi-Wan told him what had happened. Jac had also given a report to Obi-Wan, detailing what had happened on the ship. While Jac did not intentionally incriminate Rtj-lyr, he also did not try to hide his superior's actions. On being pressed, he also gave a report on what had happened in the caves.

"You're being relieved of command, pending investigation by the council," Obi-Wan said "your troops have already been reassigned. A supply ship will be arriving shortly. You'll be on it when it leaves,"

"You can't pull me out of this war!," Rtj-lyr shouted "you need me!,"

"Not when you endanger the lives of others because of your senseless obsession," Obi-Wan returned "we do not need generals who drive their troops to death for no reason,"

Rtj-lyr did not get on the supply ship. Instead, he managed to steal a fighter and slip away virtually unnoticed. He had a score to settle with Olith, the cause of his disgrace. And, to a lesser extent, with the clone who had betrayed him by reporting his actions to Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The Clone could wait. Right now, Rtj-lyr wanted to get his hands on Reg Olith.


	13. Part 5: Flying Death 1

The Clone glanced wearily at report in his hand. Guard duty was an exceptionally boring occupation, which also made it stressful. Nothing happened most of the time, so it was easy to slip into bad habits of only casually making sure that all was secure. The stress lay in the potential for something to happen after those bad habits developed. Nobody cared how long you'd been standing watch without incident, only that something had happened while you weren't doing your job.

This posting had actually be partly The Clone's idea. When it was discovered that the clones who had served under the treacherous Jedi Glyr Rtj-lyr were distrustful and even afraid of Jedi, it became apparent that something had to be done. They couldn't be relied upon because they had no faith or trust in their superiors. The Clone had come up with the idea of posting them somewhere without Jedi for awhile, allowing their fear to subside and their confidence to rebuild.

After all, it was illogical to think that the Jedi would be able to repair the damage done and still effectively wage war against the Separatists. The impracticality was such that, though The Clone didn't know it, there had been suggestion that the damaged clones be destroyed to protect the Republic from their betrayal. Except for Jac, who had not exhibited any reservations about Jedi.

He had the distinct advantage of having experience, of actually knowing that all Jedi were not like Rtj-lyr. The others had begun their careers under Rtj-lyr, and knew no other way for a Jedi to be.

However, Jac's solution was favored, it being the more pleasant to contemplate. Jac had suggested it to Commander Cody who had, in turn, mentioned it to General Kenobi, who had sent it up the chain to someone who had the authority to authorize it.

By this time, the battle for Aakaria was winding down, with the Republic being the winning side. A few scattered droid troops still remained, but the Separatists had clearly given up on taking over the planet. An outpost had been set up on the planet to scan the space nearby for approaching Separatist ships, and there were a few clones dispatched to man it and to search the planet for surviving droids.

Additionally, there was a small workforce mining for the ore which had been the true cause of conflict. Its value could not be overestimated. The Na'taves had little interest in the ore, or the mining operation, though some of their people hovered around the site, just so that the Republic didn't forget who truly ran this world. The ore was located at the tropical part of the planet, which ran like a band around it, the border between the frozen rocky region and the burning desert.

The Clone, having spent more time than he cared to admit on both the desert and dark side of the planet could say with some authority that this was the nicest region. Though humid and rainy, the climate was moderate, and both plant and animal life thrived here. Here, one never had to worry about starvation, heat stroke or frostbite.

The downside was that it was deathly boring.

The change of pace didn't much bother The Clone. It was something of a relief to find that the world as he knew it was once more in balance. He was in more danger from the enemy than the elements. Things were as they should be. Except that enemy sightings were rare, especially near the outpost. Troops were going farther and farther afield just to find a few miserable, malfunctioning droids to blast.

But Jac wasn't complaining. He was too wise for that. He knew well that peace was never a lasting thing, it was most often the calm before the storm. He didn't know whether to expect trouble to happen here on Aakaria, or to be transferred out to the front-lines of some other world. But, in any case, he didn't expect the peace, or the boredom, to last.

His co-workers did not share his contentment in that knowledge. They were younger than he was, both literally and figuratively, their wont for experience made them impulsive and, really, very irritating. He was not alone with these clones, whom he had come to think of in his own mind as "juvenile delinquents". The clone in charge of the base was a war-weary sergeant whose real monicker was Flame. But the delinquents had a different name for him. Grampa Joe. Where that had come from, nobody really knew for sure. Jac suspected it had something to do with the Sergeant's tendency to tell stories which were enthralling the first time, mind-numbingly boring and tedious the thousandth time.

It didn't help any that the delinquents had not the experience to truly appreciate Grampa Joe's tales of heroism. Though Jac was a good deal younger than Grampa Joe, he had enough experience to appreciate the stories, and the true horror of some of the situations Grampa had found himself in. He alone listened patiently to the hundred and first retelling of Grampa's exploits early in the war.

In his own way, Grampa was as damaged as the delinquents, but for a different reason. He had exceeded the average lifespan of a clone, simply by not getting himself killed one way or another, nor even wounded physically beyond repair. His long life was drenched in blood, soaked in the nightmare of losing the brothers around him, his victories and failures in battle blurring together in a drunken slur.

The Sergeant was, as the above might imply, drunk out of his gourd a lot of the time. Clones weren't supposed to drink, for the obvious reasons, but Grampa had taken to the bottle to escape his own memory. When he was sober enough, he ran the outpost. But he was often passed out in a corner, leaving Jac in charge of the delinquents, who all despised him for a variety of imaginary reasons.

Jac didn't mind. For once in his life, he had a job that made sense to him. No confusing instructions from Jedi, no wondering if this decision or that one was the right one, just simple, straight-forward duty. Jac liked simple, and it had been a long time since anything had been simple for him.

Simple didn't mean easy, however. In a given day, Jac handled as many as fifty or sixty reports and complaints from tower guards, squads in the field searching for droids or guarding the perimeter, and mine workers and the clones guarding the mines. He was even contacted by those in the Na'tave government on a regular basis to check up on progress and occasionally tell him off for troops tramping around on farmland.

This didn't bother him overmuch, as he knew that it would work itself out one way or the other. Everything would resolve itself in good time, and a "crisis" here paled in comparison with the real thing on the battlefield, where a crisis left untended resulted in the deaths of hundreds most times.

There was also no need for instant decisions. Jac could take a few minutes, hours or even days on a decision, depending on the problem, sometimes he could even wait until the Sergeant woke up and dealt with it himself. Jac was routinely surprised by the panic in the eyes of the delinquents when they reported a problem to him, as though they expected the very world to open up and swallow them if it wasn't solved right away. They acted as though their very lives depended on resolving these everyday issues immediately, if not sooner.

Youngsters. There was no accounting for their impatience. It was a wonder any of them lived long enough to become bitter and cynical soldiers.

Jac sighed heavily. The request he was looking at now required the Sergeant's signature to get it approved. Jac looked over at the Sergeant's desk. A soft snoring seemed to emanate from it. The Sergeant had drunk himself to sleep last night, slid out of his chair and wound up underneath his own desk, where he was still sleeping it off the next morning.

Jac laid the report aside. Grampa Joe could deal with that when he woke up sometime in the afternoon. The worried trooper who'd been fidgeting impatiently while Jac read the request looked at the temporarily ignored report with obvious horror. To him, it seemed that the world had just ended. He couldn't radio the squad in the field who'd made the request until he had an answer for it.

He shifted nervously, contemplating his options. He could simply delay radioing them until he had an answer, whenever that might be. Or he could call them and say he didn't have an answer, but would let them know when he did. Either way, they'd be mad as hell and probably shoot the messenger, figuratively speaking.

Jac looked at the clone still standing before him. He didn't have any real rank on this kid, except for experience points. That and nobody wanted to do this job. If they got too annoying, Jac always offered to let them take over, which snapped them back in line like a rubber band.

"You're dismissed," Jac said, in a tone that suggested the kid should have already known that.

When the clone continued to stand there looking nervous, Jac decided to give him a nudge.

"You can go,"

With a disappointed twitch, the youngster left, his mind consumed with what seemed to him to be a huge problem. How could he break it to the field troops that their request was neither accepted or denied, but sitting untended on Jac's desk?.

"Stupid kids don't know when they've got it good," this remark was so slurred Jac almost didn't catch it as the Sergeant crawled out from under his desk "I mourn the poor bastard who has to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with those delinquents on the battlefield,"

He slouched into his chair, poured himself a morning drink and downed it in a single swallow. Jac was not the only one who thought of the younger set as delinquents. If there had been any argument, he would have said Grampa started it.

"They had a rough time getting out of the gate," Jac replied passively, raising an eyebrow at the empty glass, but not commenting on it.

He would sooner have died than so blatantly break the rules, but he understood the Sergeant's need to escape better than most and so let it slide.

In fairness, was entirely possible that Grampa hadn't read the files of the newcomers, and so knew nothing of the betrayal of their master, or how their Captain had died. Even if he had, it was unlikely that he would have cared. Grampa grunted derisively.

"Well they won't get any sympathy from me," Grampa said "don't they teach those kids that nobody cares about their precious feelings?. In my day, whiners weren't tolerated. They went right to the front of the line to get shot at. They learned about how much feelings matter, if they survived long enough,"

Jac chose to ignore this. Instead of answering, he pretended the question had been rhetorical and collected the pile of reports that needed Grampa's signature, went over to the Sergeant's desk and set the reports down.

"More whiners, I suppose. Want things like food and ammo and blankets and all sorts of luxury items. Don't they know we've only got what the supply ships bring?. Do they think we're hiding the best stuff from them?. Self-centered bastards," Grampa ranted, even as he diligently read the reports, signing off on the majority of them, except the papers he seemed to form a close personal enmity with.

He then returned them to Jac, who took them wordlessly, checked them over to make sure there were no mistakes, and then turned to go back to work. Jac could have told Grampa that he'd worked with some who _did_ horde supplies, leaving others to starve. But he didn't, because that would only cause Grampa to explode in a rage at the implication that he would _ever_ do something so despicable.

"Lot of children out there, disguised as adults but without the fortitude or character to qualify. Bastards, the lot of 'em," Grampa grunted again, and poured himself another drink.

"Tell me," Jac said, settling at his own desk "is it age or drink that makes you such a cynic?,"

Grampa didn't dignify this question with an answer, grunting again and swallowing another drink. Jac shook his head and laughed, then went about his work.

* * *

It being one of the Sergeant's more lucid days, Jac elected to lead the morning patrol of the area surrounding the outpost. There were sentries posted in the surrounding area, near marked trails that might be used by Separatist troops to try and sneak up in the dead of night.

While the scanners did most of the work, there was always the off-chance that a well-timed squadron of enemy troops could make it past. The Sergeant, whatever his other faults might be, could never be said to be one who took chances. He refused to "let the clankers catch him with his rifle down", as he so eloquently put it. The youngsters at the outpost, especially the delinquents, thought these measures were absurd, and complained at length about the relative dampness of the ground, the constant dripping of water from the leaves of trees and the endless parade of stinging, biting bugs.

There were times, when he was most exasperated, that Jac had half a mind to tell them what a real bug bite looked like, what real rain felt like and what real discomfort was. But he knew that would only bring out their scorn, the same thing that happened when the Sergeant _did_ tell them the way thing really were out there.

There are some things you just can't teach, no matter how many ways you try. Some things just have to be learned the hard way. Jac only hoped the delinquents lasted long enough to find out for themselves how mean and nasty the world could be.

The dawn patrol consisted of a peculiar mix of fresh troops for the sentry posts, supply troops for those working in the field (sometimes replacements for them as well, but not today) and clones who were flat bored of reading scanners and needed a change of pace. That change of pace was a two or three hour march through the jungle, using paths which, anywhere else, would have been well-worn. Out here, however, the plants seemed to sprout up overnight, and the earth didn't become hard-packed, it became sucking mud, which grabbed at a trooper's boots almost hungrily.

"I don't see why the furballs can't guard their own damn planet," one trooper complained bitterly, after tripping over a tree root "they don't want our trade or technology, and it's hardly worth the trouble to guard a rock pile in this jungle,"

"Tell that to the next Captain or Commander who wanders through," another clone muttered.

"That's just it," the first one replied "they _don't_ wander through. Nobody ever comes out here because the war has moved on. We ought to be out there fighting the Separatists, and what are we doing?. We're mopping up the mess somebody else made on a planet that's not even strictly aligned with us. What for?. That's what I'd like to know,"

Jac had a ready answer.

"Because we were told to, Bristler. You don't have to like it, but that's how it is. You know that as well as I do,"

* * *

_A/N: I'm very much aware that the correct spelling is "Grandpa". Thanks for not mentioning it._


	14. Part 5: Flying Death 2

Bristler wasn't one of the clones who'd served under Rtj-lyr, but he was a rookie and a delinquent just the same. In fact, to hear the Sergeant tell it, Bristler was the worst of the lot. Jac took Bristler's characteristic growl of irritation in stride. A little rough around the edges, all he needed was a firm leader to point him in the right direction and a cold splash of reality.

Because he had no retort for Jac, Bristler took his frustration out on the nearest tree branch, punching it as he passed by. From out of the leaves fell a peculiar, googly-eyed creature that looked like some sort of a cross between a snake and a bird. Jac had seen them before coming here, in the desert.

He'd learned that the Na'taves called them Eglamork. Or, to use the common language, Flying Death. Jac had never figured out the reason for the name. Topping out at about three feet long, the creatures wore a permanent expression of worry and alarm, and their long bodies combined with short wings made them look almost comical when they took to the air.

This one hissed with indignation at having been knocked from its tree. The bulbous eyes narrowed and it seemed to glare at Bristler. It started to slither off, but Bristler had to push the issue.

"What are you lookin' at, ya stupid beast?," this remark was accompanied by a swift kick in the animal's direction, which missed.

"Bristler!. That was uncalled for," Jac snapped "that poor creature never did anything to do. If you've got problems, deal with them yourself, don't take it out on small animals,"

Those who had served under Rtj-lyr couldn't help but note the similarity between their past situation and what had just happened, with them playing the role of the Eglamork. Momentarily gripped by memory of starving in the dank caves of this planet, they shuddered. Except Jac, who had other things on his mind. Specifically, pulling Bristler back in line.

The clone who learned it was acceptable to take his anger out on the nearest defenseless creature was sure to move on from snakes to his fellow clones. That wasn't good for anybody.

"I hate this place," Bristler grumbled.

"And that's the snake's fault?," Jac demanded fiercely.

Bristler acted as though he wouldn't answer, so Jac repeated the question.

"I suppose not," Bristler answered sulkily.

"Yeah. You remember that," Jac told him "the snake's just an innocent bystander, it's got no quarrel with you. So let it be,"

This, Jac would later learn, was not entirely correct. The Eglamork slunk off into the bushes, but its mind burned from the ill-treatment of the invaders to its home. A quick flick of the tongue insured that it would never forget the taste of the one who had abused it, its sharp eyes would forever remember the armor worn by these lawless beasts.

It, like others of its kind, had found the unwanted guests to be rude and reckless, but best avoided. If they were left alone, the armored individuals had no interest in bothering the snakes. That suited the Eglamorks just fine. But all the activity was driving their prey from the forest.

The Eglamork was hungry, it was tired from a fruitless hunt which had lasted all night long and it had just been robbed of a peaceful morning's nap. It was clear that these home wreckers didn't intend to leave any time soon.

And there was another problem. This Eglamork was very heavily pregnant. It had to lay its eggs, and here seemed as good a place as any. It had finally decided that the clones wouldn't be too much of a bother, but that opinion had just changed. The biggest threat to the survival of its young was no longer the scavenging Jilya lizard. It was now the clones, who were soon to learn just why the snake-birds were called Flying Death.

* * *

It happened during the evening patrol, which Jac again led, this time because the Sergeant was too drunk to do it himself, but refused to let the delinquents "run about by themselves". He hadn't liked Jac's report on the dawn patrol at all. The incident with Bristler wasn't the only one.

"These dumb kids will get lost or fall down a mineshaft if nobody's out there to hold their hand," the Sergeant had told him "so you'd best go along with them, at least until they've got more sense than a droid with its head stuck in a trash compactor".

Jac didn't argue. He never did.

On approaching the first sentry post, it was clear to him that something was wrong. It was too quiet. The rookies got bored out here. And when they got bored, they got rowdy. You could sometimes hear them from half a mile away. But there was dead silence at the post, and nobody answered the radio call.

While still beyond sight of the post, Jac dropped into a crouch and brought his weapon up.

"What's the deal?," one rookie asked.

Jac was saved from having to answer by one of the former Rtj-lyr clones, who grabbed the rookie by the armor and yanked him down, fiercely shushing him. Uneasily, Jac crept closer. It was possible the rookies were doing something stupid and irresponsible, but it was equally possible that they were dead.

The silence made him nervous. He didn't like it. Here in the jungle, there was constant noise everywhere. The creatures in the trees were always calling to one another, and a veritable plethora of insects buzzed around. But the air here was dead silent.

Jac checked the ground for tracks, but didn't see any except the ones he and the other clones had left earlier. Slowly, cautiously, he circled the sentry post. Still no tracks. No signs of violence either. The underbrush stood unbroken, the trees overhead were undamaged. If there'd been a fight, it had been very contained. It would have to have been over very quickly. Droids weren't this neat. That was an uncomfortable thought. If not droids, then what?.

"What's his problem?," Bristler asked quietly "doesn't he know nothin' ever happens out here?,"

"Let him be," Dusty, one of the former Rtj-lyr clones, retorted "Jac's got more field experience than all the rest of us combined. If his instincts tell him something's up, something is bound to be wrong,"

Jac overheard this, but pretended he didn't. It was the first time any of the damaged clones had stood up for him, instead of trying to tear him down. It was a good sign that there was hope for them yet.

Jac didn't dwell on that thought, turning his attention to the matter at hand. Slowly, quietly, he eased towards where the sentries were supposed to be. As soon as the clearing was in view, he knew that trouble had already come and gone hours ago.

"Shit," This remark was made by Bristler on seeing the aftermath of the attack.

The sentries lay in various positions which conveyed the agony of their deaths. Jac got up and went to one, rolling him over on his back to find two punctures in his armor right at the chest. Something had stabbed right through to the heart. Whatever it was hadn't killed him instantly though. From the furrows in the dirt around him, it was apparent that he had writhed about in pain for some time before dying.

"The others are like this one," Dusty reported "all dead. I'd guess for about eight hours,"

"Something waited for the dawn patrol to go by, then killed them," Jac shook his head "not droids, that's for sure,"

"A member of the Sith, maybe?," Dusty suggested, almost hopefully.

Better the enemy you knew, than the one you didn't.

Jac shook his head, "the wounds aren't consistent with a light-saber,"

"What then?,"

"I don't know. Yet," Jac replied "it's not a weapon I'm familiar with,"

That probably ruled out the Na'taves as suspects as well. Jac had been around them enough to have seen most of their weapons. Na'taves preferred to use their "natural defenses", tooth and claw anyway. But these weren't claw marks. However... Jac looked again at the wounds on the body before him.

"Fangs," he said "something with fangs, about six inches long, I'd guess,"

"Six inches?. But that would barely get through. There's no way that anything that short could reach the lungs or the heart and do any real damage. Not through the armor,"

"I know," Jac replied "I don't think that's what killed them,"

"What then?," Dusty asked again.

"We'll have to get them back and run a few tests, but I'd say they were poisoned. Venom, probably,"

"What a way to go,"

"I'm more worried about what killed them and why than how they died," Jac replied evenly.

Sure enough, as he had predicted that morning, the peace wasn't meant to last. Something, or someone, probably a small group, had just declared war on those standing sentry. Jac had to find out why. They'd been here for a little over a month now, without any real problems. Why was the trouble starting now?. The timing seemed odd somehow.

Jac did not now recall the earlier incident between Bristler and the Eglamork. Though he had obviously not forgotten it completely, there was no reason for him to think it had any bearing on what he now found himself faced with. He had never seen the fangs of an Eglamork, and would not have assumed so small a creature had such fantastic killing teeth. No, he was more inclined to think it was a Jilya lizard, a creature which averaged ten to fifteen in length. Or he would have been, had he not seen the teeth of the lizard. The Jilya lizard had a complete set of relatively small, serrated teeth which fit together neatly and in plain view of all who looked at it. There was simply no reasonable place for fold out fangs to be.

Aside from which, Jilya lizards were shy creatures who left clear marks with clawed feet and dragging tail wherever they went. Whatever had done this must have come from above, and left the same way. If it had merely covered its tracks, it would have had to erase some of the clone footprints as well.

Even realizing this, Jac did not suspect the seemingly innocuous Eglamork. He was more inclined to think it was a Separatist assassin, sent here to destroy the outpost and thus make way for a fleet to come and retake Aakaria.

"We'd better get back to base and report this," Jac said.

Aakaria, with the exception of its dark side, had extraordinarily bad radio reception. Thus the sentry posts served as relay points for the troops in the field, the mines and a post on the dark side which relayed its message to points beyond.

Before returning to base, Jac sent a warning message which would be relayed by radio operators to those in the field and at the mines. He also sent a message which would reach the dark side of the planet and then be further relayed to those in authority. The alarm had just gone off.

Someone, or something, was killing troops on Aakaria.

* * *

A few miles to the east, a squad of clones in the field got the message almost too late. They had stumbled across a few scattered remnants of a droid platoon and had fanned out to comb the area and make sure no droid escaped.

"Heads up, we got trouble," one clone told the trooper ahead of him.

"What kind?,"

"Don't know. I just got a message on the radio, just barely got through the static. Whatever it is, it's not droids. Some kind of animal attack,"

"You mean the Na'taves?," his companion asked, bewildered.

Before the clone could answer, there was a cry, first of surprise and then of pain, from up ahead. Blaster fire filled the air, cutting fiery swaths through the jungle. The rest of the squad closed around the stricken clone, only to find him flailing on the ground, helplessly clutching at his chest, then his helmet and then his blaster, which fired off a few more wild shots.

A second later, all hell broke loose. They came from above, hissing shrilly as they fell upon the clones below. The clones didn't know what had hit them. Their assailants landed on the back of their necks and shoulders, then swung around to impale them with deadly poison fangs.

The first clone to be stricken struggled to his feet, staggered a few paces, lost his balance, spun, and fell back to the ground, where he tried in vain to use his radio. They were out of range but, even if they hadn't been, he still would have been unable to call for help.

In a tree above, the Eglamork whom Bristler had kicked looked on, two thirds of her body hanging in midair, held up only by her tail gripping the branch and the occasional flap of her blood-red wings.

* * *

"We've gotten reports from all but one squad," the Sergeant told Jac when he returned to the outpost "Jac, what the hell is going on out there?,"

For once, Grampa Joe's drink was sitting untouched on his desk, though his right hand kept grasping it, then letting it go as though he were fighting the impulse to down another glass and hope this all blew over.

"I don't know," Jac replied honestly.

He'd been "shot" as the messenger before, but he didn't expect it from Grampa Joe. The Sergeant was far too wise to crush the one clone who didn't think he was a drunken fool. Drunk, yes, but no fool. Jac had respect for him, which was more than could be said about any of the others. No, the Sergeant wouldn't become angry with Jac.

"You're sure it's not the Na'taves?,"

"Sure as I can be," Jac told him "I've fought alongside those people, and I've never seen them do that kind of damage. They do favor their natural weapons over technology, but they haven't the bite for what I saw out there,"

"Sir!," a clone came dashing into the room, snapping to frightened attention before the Sergeant's desk "Sentry post 113 reports that they received a garbled message from the squad that failed to report in,"

"And?," the Sergeant's face took on a bored and slightly annoyed expression.

The youngster had been quick to report in, but had paused short of giving the Sergeant any sort of useful information. Sentry post 113 reported contact with the missing squad. Well hooray for them.

"The squad was attacked. But there were survivors. They reported that they were attacked, and then we lost contact,"

"Really?," the Sergeant drawled as the rookie fidgeted uneasily "by what?,"

"Well... um...," this kid lacked Jac's confidence that the Sergeant wouldn't shoot the messenger "Sir... it was... the snake-birds,"

"What!?," the Sergeant straightened in his seat, his eyebrows rising.

"You know, the little feathery...," the rookie trailed off, realizing the Sergeant was no longer listening.

"Jac, you said those googly-eyed monsters were harmless," the Sergeant said, turning on Jac.

"I said no such thing," Jac replied levelly "I said they showed no hostility,"

"You call this 'no hostility'?!,"

"No sir," Jac answered "I call it revenge,"

Grampa Joe leaned back in his chair, deflating suddenly. At last, he did pick up his glass and drank its contents as the truth of Jac's words hit home. The Sergeant had heard of this before. Peaceful natives incited to kill because of ruined homeland or murdered young.

The enemy who attacked in personal rage was easily the most dangerous and unpredictable.

"Call the Na'taves," the Sergeant said "tell them...," here he sighed wearily "we need their help,"

After the rookie had ducked out, he turned to Jac. His aging face seemed all the older. Jac had never considered what happened when a clone had seen too much of war. He'd never even fully realized there was such a thing. But there was no mistaking burned out look in the Sergeant's eyes.

"Jac, go and look for those kids, will you?,"

Jac chose to respond to the question as though it were an order, as was befitting of the situation.

"Yes sir,"


	15. Part 5: Flying Death 3

By this time, Jac had very nearly forgotten Bristler's transgression this morning. Even if he had not, his options were limited when it came to picking clones to accompany him. Whatever his faults, Bristler was exceptionally well-suited to close combat, which seemed a very likely possibility.

Jac chose Bristler, Dusty and three others. He knew that, when it came to ambush scenarios, numbers often did more harm than good. Too many clones all yelling and shooting at the same time equaled nothing but chaos. Best to keep the numbers down and their orders strict.

He put Dusty on point. He would have taken it himself, but knew that, without him, these kids would probably lose all cohesion. That's why you needed a commander, if not in rank, certainly in station. Having seniority on this lot, Jac was understandably in charge. His experience was what would keep them alive in a hairy situation.

Jac admonished Dusty not to forget to keep an eye on the trees overhead. He couldn't recall a time when a Eglamork had been spotted on the ground. Almost always they were hanging from tree limbs. But, on the other hand, Jac had never seen one go on the offensive. It was possible they attacked from the ground. As they were winged beasts without legs, this seemed an unlikely strategy.

Traveling swiftly, without beating the bushes, they soon found where the squad had been attacked. A swift count of the bodies revealed that there were two still alive, or that had been alive long enough to leave the scene of the massacre. It hadn't been a battle, not really.

"Looks like they headed off this way," Dusty said, spotting boot marks in the mud.

"We'll head out after them," Jac decided "be careful, there may still be enemy forces in the area,"

Though they had run across some recently blasted droids, they knew that Jac was not speaking of Separatist troops. He was talking about Eglamorks. The search party moved on. But Jac hung back, taking a last look at the scene.

He was about to go on when he caught movement in the corner of his eye. At first he thought one of the troopers was still alive, but he soon realized that there was something underneath the dead clone. Shifting the body aside with the muzzle of his rifle, Jac found himself face to face with an Eglamork.

He raised his blaster to fire, but hesitated. The small creature looked stricken, one of its wings looked as though it had been just about ripped off. This little one had bitten off more than it could chew. Truly, it had killed its adversary but, in so doing, it had doomed itself.

Even so, it opened its alarmingly large mouth. Jac realized that the lower jaw could unhinge and allowed the killer venom fangs to snap forward into a biting position. The Eglamork writhed on the ground and hissed, but it couldn't fly at its hated enemy.

"You're a brave one, aren't you," Jac observed dispassionately.

Born and bred for a single purpose, Jac had never thought to show mercy to man or beast. His job was to kill the enemy, plain and simple. But time had made him wise, and he knew the real objective was, in the end, to preserve life. In a strange way, all the killing was really about saving lives. This creature could do him no harm, but it might yet save his brothers.

If an anti-venom could be produced and gotten to stricken troopers before they died, it could be an invaluable means of defending themselves. But, more importantly, a surviving member of the enemy in their midst might teach them something of the habits and form of communication used by the creatures.

Carefully, Jac pinned the creature's head with his rifle and picked it up by the neck with his free hand. Immediately, its tail wrapped around his arm, seeming almost reflexive in its action. It wasn't powerful enough to do any harm.

"This will be interesting," Jac said, awkwardly slinging his rifle over his shoulder and then pulling out a smaller, one-handed version of it.

"What the hell are you doing with that?," Bristler asked when Jac had caught up with the others.

"Whatever I damn well please," Jac replied, in no mood to explain himself.

At sight of Bristler, the captured Eglamork folded out a frill of bright green skin that sat just behind its head and hissed fearfully, its large eyes seeming even bigger than they really were.

"I don't think it likes you, Bristler," commented one of the others, chuckling.

"The feeling is mutual," Bristler sulked.

* * *

A mile farther on, they found the survivors. And the female Eglamork. While her cohorts had been more than happy to execute a sudden ambush, pursuit was not in their line of interest. Their energy was best saved for things they could actually eat. Coming upon unsuspecting clones was one thing, chasing them a very different thing. But the she-Eglamork with the blood-red wings was intent upon leaving no survivors. That is, until a flavor in the air told her of the approach of the one whom she hated most.

A moment later, the search party found the survivors, one of whom was standing very still in an attempt to avoid provoking the Eglamork which was draped around his neck. His relief at seeing Jac was palpable. While this particular rookie, like the others, had been inclined to give Jac a hard time, now he was in the thick of things he couldn't help but look to one with more experience than he.

"Don't move," Jac advised, then added to those he'd brought with him "hold your fire,"

This was an important command. For, while they didn't intend to fire yet, they wouldn't hesitate if the Eglamork bit or moved away from their brother. Jac didn't want that. He'd seen enough to know that the problem didn't lie with one rogue Eglamork. The creatures, however primitive, were attempting to eradicate the intruders, waiting for their chance to spring an ambush and leaving no survivors.

The captured Eglamork squeaked at sight of another of its kind, perhaps calling for help. The she-Eglamork raised her broad, flat head and flicked out her tongue. Then she hissed and parted her jaws. In an instant, the killing fangs had snapped into place. But she didn't strike, instead hovering where she was, a large eye turned in Jac's direction.

"Jac...," Bristler growled tensely, every instinct screaming that he should fire, fire now, before the beast had a chance to bite. He might yet save his brother.

But Jac was keenly aware of the fact that there was much more at stake. He wanted that Eglamork alive, but he couldn't figure out how to manage it.

"Hold," he insisted, eyes on the creature, which spread its wings, perhaps trying to look menacing.

The one in his hand was beginning to struggle, twisting and writhing about his arm, trying to break free of his careful, but firm, grasp. It squeaked more insistently now, and the other responded to its cries. Her head bobbed up and down rapidly, threatening to strike, but never quite doing it.

The clone upon which she sat was beginning to tremble from having stood perfectly still for a long time. His movement seemed to irritate the creature, who hissed at him and struck at his helmet. Her fangs raked down the visor, but didn't pierce it, leaving only scratches on the armor and no damage to the trooper inside.

Bristler raised his rifle, but Jac used his free hand to stay him, grasping the muzzle and pointing it down firmly, sparing only a momentary glance at the kid.

"That thing is going to kill him, and you want us to stand by and watch!," Bristler snarled.

At sound of his voice, the she-Eglamork raised her head and swung to face him. Her frill, not unlike that of the other, only blue, spread about her head and her eyes seemed to flash. The red wings flapped and her mouth opened wider. Suddenly, she sprang at him, mouth agape.

She moved faster than the eye could track. Shots were fired, but missed. She was brought up short of her target by something blocking her way. Her fangs buried themselves in shoulder armor, their tips just barely cutting into skin. She had gotten Jac, who dropped to one knee when she hit him.

Though the clones didn't know it, the startled Eglamork had not injected her venom. Her bite was designed in such a way that she had to actually release the poison. Striking sooner than she meant to, against something she had not intended to hit had caused her to instinctively withhold her poison. She now slithered to the ground, shielded from the clones by Jac's body.

The survivors of the ambushed squad almost had a clear shot at her, but she slithered up onto one of Jac's boots, knowing somehow that the clones wouldn't risk hurting him. Perhaps she had noticed that no shots were fired while she perched on one of the clones.

"I said hold your fire!," Jac spat.

His mind had finally connected the dots. While he couldn't know that this Eglamork was the same one Bristler had kicked, he did now recall the incident this morning. His mind had quickly concluded that the Eglamork had a special reason for hating Bristler, otherwise it would have bitten the clone upon which it sat. It wouldn't have picked a distant target when there was one close by. That was poor strategy, something the Eglamorks had not shown thus far.

"How long does it take the venom to take effect?," Jac asked of the survivors.

"Seconds, I think," one answered "but it doesn't kill right away,"

"That's what I thought," Jac replied "I'm not feelin' it,"

"What?," Bristler demanded "what do you mean?,"

"I mean I haven't been poisoned," Jac said irritably.

"But the snake bit you," Bristler protested.

"Take these kids home," Jac ordered, ignoring him "that's right, the lot of you. Head back,"

"But what about you?," asked one of the survivors.

"That's none of your concern. Move along,"

Obediently, if reluctantly, the youngsters moved off, leaving Jac alone with two Eglamork.

"Flying Death, eh?," he said, addressing the creature on his boot "now I know why,"

She looked past his eyes, to the creature he still held captive. He looked in its direction. It was quiet now, wide eyed and panting, but no longer fighting.

"If I let you go, you promise not to bite me," Jac said.

He didn't expect it to understand, but he put it down anyway, carefully aiming its head away from himself, and also careful to keep his movements slow so as not to provoke the snake sitting on him. The smaller Eglamork slithered free with a hiss, and turned to face him. But it couldn't fly at him, not even if it wanted to.

"I don't know if you can survive with that wing," Jac told the creature as it coiled up to keep an eye on him "but I'm afraid I can't help you with that. You'd bite me,"

The she-Eglamork slithered off his boot and joined the other, flicking her tongue rapidly over the smaller creature's head, as if to assure herself that this was who she thought it was.

"I do have a med-kit, but I doubt you'd let me help," Jac said, easing into a sitting position and pulling out the med-kit.

It was not kindness that drove his actions or, anyway, he told himself it wasn't. But improving relations with these dangerous animals was the only way he was going to protect his men.

To his surprise, the injured creature slithered into reach and presented its side, its enormous eyes calm, but wary. Jac quickly patched the broken wing as best he was able, and the creature slipped away to rejoin the she-Eglamork.

"Now, I want no more trouble with you," Jac said firmly, knowing full well the creatures couldn't understand his words, but hoping they could infer his meaning "I'll keep my men in line, and you keep to yourselves. We don't want to be here, but we've got orders to stay. So, if you keep on killing us, I'll have to do something about it. Nobody wants that,"

The creatures sat looking at him, gazing with wide, intelligent eyes. Intelligent enough, hopefully, to realize that there actions were unacceptable, and must come to an end. Hopefully, they could see that Jac was in charge of these men, and that he didn't want them to harm the Eglamorks.

That was a lot to ask of mere snakes, but all he could do was hope.

"Well, I'd best be getting back, before they send a search party out to look for me,"

He rose and walked away, without once glancing back to see if the snakes were following. He was confident that they would not attack him. At least, not right now.


	16. Part 6: Rogues 1

The Clone didn't like the look of the sky. It was dark, almost black, the thick storm clouds roiling about, tossed back and forth by a howling wind. Rain was an almost daily occurrence here on the "belt" of Aakaria, but it was never dark like this.

The angry sky seemed to reflect the feeling of the Na'taves, the people who lived on this planet. The Na'tave government had already changed hands once during The Clone's stay here. It seemed that it would do so again, as the people grew annoyed by the Republic's presence on their world. Meisheb, the current ruler, seemed the lone voice of reason. She alone seemed aware that the outpost was meant to guard against invasion, where the other Na'taves seemed to think that the troops were here simply to try and assert the Republic's authority over the planet.

Time had a way of blurring the past. The Na'taves now compared the lone outpost to the invasion troops of the Separatists, and now accused the Republic of "stealing" their valuable ore, ore for which they had no use. The Na'taves not only didn't use it, but they were singularly disinterested in trade with other worlds, meaning it had no value to them. They had agreed to let the Republic mine it, but now they had become restless and angry.

The Na'taves were well known to be creatures who acted more on whim than careful thought, and the sane leadership of Meisheb was not conducive to such. It had been inevitable that her reign would be a short one. Unfortunately, the issue of most political interest was the Republic troops, and so they found themselves at the center of a conflict which should never have involved them.

The Clone had known from the very start that his stay at the outpost wouldn't last. He had known that he would be reassigned or killed one way or another. In fact, it wasn't so long ago that a native species, the Eglamork, had come very close to killing him with a venomous bite.

Unlike the Na'taves, the Eglamork were reasonable creatures as a whole. When left alone, the Eglamorks had no quarrel with anyone. The clones had merely needed to learn this. They had learned how to recognize a nesting site or hunting ground, and to avoid them wherever possible.

One clone, Bristler, had been grounded to the outpost for untoward belligerence towards the creatures, resulting in permanent animosity between himself and any Eglamork he encountered. Since he had been confined indoors, there had been no more trouble between Eglamorks and the clones. This was a good thing, especially for the clones. They had found out the hard way why the snake-birds were called Eglamork, or Flying Death.

The Clone sighed wearily and turned from the window to the Na'tave that stood before him, tail lashing angrily. The Na'taves were extremely cat-like, with luminous eyes and retractable claws on paw-like hands. This one was young, as was evidenced by his short, nearly black, whiskers.

"The Na'tave people refuse to put up with your rough treatment of our mothers and kittens," the Na'tave, named Kaaz, groused "if our government will not order you away, you should go on your own. Otherwise, the people will have to take steps,"

"We have not been near your villages in over a month," The Clone said.

"Our people near the mines are the ones you have bothered," Kaaz replied, eyes narrowing.

He knew well that The Clone hadn't been that far from the outpost and therefor could not in good conscience assure him that there had been no trouble there. All The Clone could do was cite the reports he had received, which Kaaz immediately questioned.

He hated politics. He could tell that Kaaz was really trying to further his career by backing The Clone into a corner on this, and there was no way out. The Clone didn't have the wit to cross verbal swords with a politician. His fighting was done with the barrel of a gun. It was all he knew.

"You know very well that no one lives near the mines," this was said by Grampa Joe, the Sergeant who ran the outpost.

He had been elsewhere when Kaaz arrived, probably drinking in his quarters. Someone had announced the arrival of the Na'taves to him, and he was just now coming to The Clone's rescue. The Clone breathed a sigh of relief on seeing that his Sergeant's eyes were mostly clear. He was fairly lucid. That was good.

"The curious come to see what you are doing," Kaaz countered, doing a good job of feigning neutrality "and the toxic gas your operation releases into the air poisons them while your people abuse our weak and helpless,"

"Nobody makes them go to the mines," the Sergeant replied "I see this as being a problem on your end, not mine. My people stay in the area of the mines, per instruction. We do not approach your people, nor do we initiate contact with them,"

"Our kittens are dying!," Kaaz spat, lashing his tail.

In the face of the Sergeant, his argument was withering and dying before his eyes, and he didn't like it. The silver fur along his neck rose as he puffed himself up importantly.

"That is not our fault," the Sergeant replied, then added agreeably "if you need medical aid, however, I would be pleased to call for a negotiator,"

"We are through negotiating!," Kaaz practically yowled "we want you to leave!,"

"And we would be delighted to," the Sergeant's said gravely "however, we have orders to the contrary. You seem to think there is someone at this outpost in authority, but you are wrong. However, I would be happy to establish radio communication with someone who _is_ in authority, and you can bring your complaints to them. All I can do is ensure that those stationed here remain in line with the agreement that your people signed. I can't order an evacuation,"

This statement was somewhat simpler than reality, but it served the purpose.

"You have not heard the last of me," Kaaz snarled, then stalked out, taking his entourage with him.

"Fool doesn't know when he's got a good thing going. Not members of the Republic, but protected from Separatists for letting us mine an ore they don't even want," Grampa grunted, strolling over to his desk and pulling open a drawer containing a bottle and pouring some of its contents into a glass.

The Clone waited patiently for the Sergeant to spit his favorite expletive before responding.

"Bastard," there it was. The Sergeant sat down.

"Unfortunately, his people seem to agree with him. I've gotten a number of reports from mine workers that the Na'taves there aren't merely 'curious'. They're down there, actively trying to provoke both the miners and the troopers guarding them. They've even been known to throw rocks. We've got a problem on our hands, Sir,"

"Bah," Grampa shifted in his seat and looked at Jac out of half-closed eyes "Jac, you know as well as I do, that there's not a trooper among our ranks that would rise to idle threats,"

"That's just it," Jac replied "we're under orders to leave the Na'tave people strictly alone. They're testing to see how far they can push us before we fight back. The question is, what do we do when their pushing becomes a threat to this station?,"

The Sergeant didn't answer this, instead guzzling down more alcohol. That was the worst answer of all.

It told him that the Sergeant had already put a call in, asking for clarification of their orders. Some politician must have made the decision. Jedi were more reasonable. In short, they were strictly forbidden to defend themselves from the Na'taves in any way.

* * *

It came in the night, sudden and loud. A sound like thunder but not thunder, which split the air and made the ground itself tremble. It was a sound that woke the blood of the soldier, waking in him his instinct for battle. But it only chilled Jac to the bone. He was not afraid, the chill he felt was born of the painful knowledge that he could not answer the challenge which had just exploded through his front door. Nor could any of the other troopers.

They were under attack alright, but by the Na'tave people. Someone was shouting something about needing help, but Jac couldn't see through the darkness and rising smoke. Smoke. They were being burned out. Jac knew that they had only one choice. If they wanted to survive, they had to retreat.

Fleeing from the enemy is among a clone's worst nightmares. Born and trained to fight, their one purpose being to achieve victory in battle. Running... they didn't understand it.

Jac knew he must swiftly take the rookies in hand before their instincts and training overrode their orders. He fumbled in the dark for his armor and, more importantly, his helmet, which was equipped with a headlamp. A little light would make him a target, but it would also help him find the others.

Less than a minute later, he'd tracked down three rookies and run into a fourth in the hallway. Thus far, there was no sight of the enemy, or the Sergeant. He found the latter more worrying. He expected the Na'taves were launching whatever weapon was turning the outpost into an inferno. They'd go head-to-head once they were outdoors. The guards posted probably already had.

Jac remembered seeing the Na'taves fight once before. He recalled being glad that they were on his side. He wondered what they'd told themselves that made them willing to forgo their preferred method of combat in favor of using weapons.

But there wasn't time for such speculation. Turning a corner, he ran headlong into the Sergeant.

"I put a call out on the radio," the Sergeant said, giving Jac a shove towards the exit "they told us to abandon the outpost. I doubt if we're getting any backup on this one,"

Minutes later, those who could had escaped the flames and slipped away into the night. The clones paused for a moment to take in the appearance of their burning outpost, and then turned away before their anger could force them to do something foolish.

The fall of the outpost was also the fall of one of the more powerful radio towers on the planet. They couldn't communicate with the miners or sentry posts to find out if they too had been attacked, or to warn them of impending assault.

"We'll have to do it the old fashioned way," the Sergeant told his crew "we'll go and tell them ourselves,"

The clones couldn't know it, but their call for help had been relayed to the Jedi, who also heard the politics-based orders the clones received. It was decided by the council that these clones would not be abandoned, and a ship was dispatched to Aakaria, carrying Anakin Skywalker and Ahsoka Tano as well as additional clone troops. They weren't planning to go to war, just to extract their troops, using whatever measures proved necessary.

If the Na'taves didn't want the protection or trade of the Republic, so be it.


	17. Part 6: Rogues 2

The clones avoided the paths they'd made between sentry posts, keeping to the heavier jungle on either side. More than once, they encountered small groups of Na'taves on the paths, lying in wait to try and catch any clones who had managed to escape from the outpost building.

The clones went on past these road blocks in relative silence, moving quietly without speaking, following one another single file, with the Sergeant taking the lead and Jac taking the rear. This served to keep the rookies in line, and prevent them from thinking too much about what they were doing. Though their numbers were few by normal standards, they still outnumbered the few Na'taves lining the paths, and their military hardware certainly outweighed that of the cat people.

But they had their orders. And probably with good reason. Jac had seen how quickly the Na'tave government could change hands. By morning, the Na'taves might well be allies. But not if the troopers slaughtered them. At least, he figured that was the logic behind their orders.

They could smell the smoke before they even reached the first sentry post.

"Dusty, you come with me. The rest of you stay here," the Sergeant ordered.

He didn't explain himself. Far as Jac was concerned, he didn't have to. The Sergeant was going to try and get the clones at the sentry post out. It was a delicate task, one he would probably have preferred Jac help him with. But Jac needed to stay here and keep the hot headed delinquents in check.

They looked like they might protest, but the Sergeant had mastered the "shut up and sit down" tone of voice. Nobody said a word as he and Dusty disappeared into the night, following the direction of the smoke. Overhead, the sky was taking on a sickly orange glow, a reflection of the burning down below.

Distantly, they could hear yelling of troopers, the yowling of Na'taves and the crackling of the hungry flames. There was some consolation in the fact that the rain forest was unlikely to catch fire. The fire would have to grow pretty strong to overwhelm the dampness which surrounded it. Aside from which, Jac doubted that the Na'taves would take it that far. If their precious trees began to smolder, they would probably cease their attack in favor of saving the forest.

Whatever their flaws, the Na'taves were not complete fools.

They waited, breathless in the dark, fighting the urge to get up and join the fight. Not even Jac was entirely immune to the relentless pull inside him, born either of genetics or training, he wasn't sure. Seconds turned to minutes. The minutes dragged forever. At last, Jac knew that no one would be coming out of the blaze. Even so, he waited a few more minutes, just in case. But he was not wrong.

"Let's move," he got up and headed out, and most of the troopers followed him.

They had known too that nobody was coming. But they'd been hoping they were in error, waiting for Jac's confirmation of their worst fears.

"You can't ask us to run," Bristler protested "clones don't run from a fight. It's not right. Who's with me?," he looked around, and saw that there were those among their ranks who shared his belief.

But nobody had the time to answer, because Jac whirled on him, drawing his blaster and pointing it.

"You want to die, Bristler?. I can arrange that. But I'll be damned if I let you take even one of these kids down with you. And you're sure as hell not going to violate our orders. Not on my watch,"

Bristler could hear in his voice that he meant it. Seeing he'd won, at least for now, Jac put his weapon away and took the lead through the dark. He wondered what his superiors would think of that particular tactic. He supposed that it didn't really matter right now. He could think about it later.

* * *

Jac had survived the scorching heat of the desert, the bitter chill of the dank caves, the ferocious beasts of the jungle and even the explosion of a ship in space. But now he was faced with something of which he had no knowledge, and had no idea how to cope with.

They had run across Na'tave hunters during the night. For the moment, they had given them the slip. But Na'taves were expert trackers, and it wouldn't be long before they caught up to the clones. Jac had decided to head for the relay station on the dark side of the planet, remembering vaguely that Na'taves avoided that side of the planet whenever possible.

But they were far from the usual path, traveling a section of forest Jac had never been in. At dawn, they had come to a rather serious obstacle. Stretched across their path as far as they could see in either direction was a body of water. It was this which brought Jac up short.

Strange to think that he, and all his brothers, found their origin on a planet composed almost entirely of water, and yet they had never been taught to swim. He understood the mechanics alright, but it had never been in his training. Virtually all of his training had been conducted indoors, never with the thought of his having to cross a river or lake. Clone troopers were meant to be deployed at a battle location via airship. They were certainly trained for endurance, but not with the thought of them having to travel great distances over varying terrain, but having to fight over the same.

"Now what?," Bristler demanded hotly.

Jac didn't respond at first, his mind struggling to recall everything he had learned about the nature of water. Those lessons were long ago, when he was still a child. As he got older, his training had become focused on shooting, strategy, piloting and the like. Science had simply been a basis for the latter part of his education. But he did realize that, even if they had practiced swimming with the same rigor as all other training exercises, they would still be carrying too much weight to make it across.

Trooper armor, considered light when compared to most other variations of the same, was actually quite heavy. And not even remotely buoyant. And there was also their ordnance to consider. They couldn't just leave it behind.

Aside from the very real possibility that they would need it, it also wasn't really theirs to abandon. Troops were responsible for the maintenance of their armor, firearms and other equipment, but it wasn't theirs to lose. They had abandoned the outpost because their orders gave them no other option, not if survival was to still be "on the menu". But they could not do the same with their equipment.

That equipment, they had been taught, was a privilege to use. It was the difference between life and death. Aside from the high crimes of direct disobedience and causing injury or death of a Jedi, there was no greater sin than to abuse, misuse or misplace military hardware. Or so they'd been taught.

"We need to look for a way across," Jac decided aloud "a place where it's narrower, or shallow,"

"I think we should stand and fight," Bristler argued.

"You're too young to think," Jac told him in a voice which was in equal measures impatient, reasonable, annoyed and matter-of-fact.

Bristler, pride thus wounded, went about looking for a shallow, narrow patch of water. He did so sulkily, which was how he wound up doing most things. The others were too far out of their element to put up protest, meekly following orders in the hopes of eventually finding themselves back in familiar territory, in more ways than one.

* * *

It wasn't long before one of the clones found the shallow water they were looking for. Or, at least, that's what they thought. The water was swift-moving, but only got up to their knees. Jac would have preferred to take his time in crossing, making careful progress, taking each step as though he had no idea what lay ahead. Unfortunately, he was denied that luxury.

He heard the Na'taves long before he saw them, beating the bushes to try and flush any clones who might be hiding. They had no choice but to cross, and be quick about it. If they didn't, they would be caught in the open and would be forced to choose between obedience and survival.

Halfway across, Jac's worst fears about the water were realized. The clone on point took a step forward and suddenly found himself in deep, strong current. He was almost immediately dragged under, and would have been swept away had not the trooper behind him reacted instantly, reaching out and grabbed his hand. The clone behind him took hold of his other hand to make sure he didn't get dragged under as well.

By now, the Na'taves had appeared on the shoreline. The clones were out of range, and the Na'taves clearly had no wish to enter the water, but they weren't worried. The Na'taves probably knew of the deep water, knew the clones were trapped out there. All they had to do was wait for the quarry to come to them or die out there in the frigid river.

"Got any more bright ideas, fearless leader?," Bristler asked Jac mockingly.

Jac didn't answer him. His mind was working hard on the problem, examining all the angles. No matter how he looked at it, it seemed that they were screwed. If they stayed out here, they were screwed. If they tried to cross, they were screwed. If they went back and faced the Na'taves, they were screwed.

But Jac didn't feel the resignation he had expected, or the fear which was warranted. Instead, an irrational anger welled up inside. He had not survived on this rotten planet so long just to die here. When he died, it damn well better not be on this wretched hunk of rock.

His determination thus restored, Jac waded out towards the deep water. After careful examination, he determined that there was a limit to the deep water, that there was more shallow on the other side.

"Form a line," Jac ordered "secure yourselves to the trooper in front of you,"

"Are you insane?," Bristler asked.

"Do as I say," Jac snapped.

Once they were secured to one another, Jac took the lead. Almost at once the current tried to sweep him away. But the line held. Jac floundered in the water for fully six minutes and in doing so swallowed more water than he normally drank in a week, but he made it across the deep patch.

Water logged and trembling with effort, he got his feet under him and then turned to brace himself. Once braced as well as he could, he called for the next trooper to cross. Because there was now a line all the way across, this second clone had a much easier time of it than Jac had.

One by one, they crossed, and then assisted the next one in line. Bristler, at the end of the line, was basically towed across.

The Na'taves, seeing this, became very agitated. They yowled angrily, and some even went so far as to put their feet in the water before leaping back, hissing. But they could do nothing. If they wanted the clones, they'd have to find a way around the water. They disappeared from the shoreline the moment the clones reached the other side.

On the far shore, Jac and a some others coughed up water for a few minutes. Then they pushed on.


	18. Part 6: Rogues 3

Jac felt sure he'd done more walking on this planet than all the other walking he'd done in the rest of his life combined. Crossing vast distances in relatively short periods of time, always doing so in a state of quiet desperation, fighting to survive. He was getting tired of it.

More than that, he was getting tired of leading rookies by the hand. It seemed like they never quite whining. They kept trying to think and have their own ideas, but had not the wisdom born of experience to come up with any good ones, nor the born-in intelligence for it either.

He wondered if he'd been that stupid when he was a rookie. He supposed that he probably had been. After all, he was a clone, just like any other. Still, he couldn't recall ever being so contrary.

For a time, a small flock of Eglamorks flew alongside them, following them curiously and perhaps looking to peck at Bristler, the one clone they hadn't formed a truce with. But Jac kept Bristler in the middle of the group. Not out of reach exactly, but the Eglamorks would have to go after more clones than Bristler to get to him. They weren't willing to do that.

_Animals have got more sense than people. They fight for what's theirs and then leave it at that. People always want more than that. Maybe they just like fighting for the sake of it._

This thought brought him uneasily to something he normally avoided thinking about. After the war, when all the fighting was done, what happened to him and those like him?. They didn't know how to be farmers or politicians. They weren't inventors or painters. They had no real skills or purpose other than war. It's what they'd been bred for.

When it was all over, would it be the end for them as well?. Would they simply fade away?. Or would they become as the new enemy, killing and fighting for the sake of it, in the end destroying themselves for lack of purpose?.

_You've spent too much time walking, Jac. You're starting to think about things you shouldn't and asking questions you're better off not knowing the answers to._

* * *

At the same time as the clones were crossing the river, Anakin and Ahsoka were flying over the rain forest in an airship. The outpost had been literally burned to the ground. Smoke curled up out of the trees at several other points, presumably sentry posts. The mine was a mass of rocks and rubble.

The only troopers they could get on the radio were the clones of the relay station on the dark side of the planet. Anakin wanted to look for survivors, but so far they'd had no luck. The trees were just too thick. If there were clones alive down there, he couldn't see them.

Hopefully, any survivors would be making their way to the relay station. On arrival, Anakin had contacted the Na'tave government. A brief conversation with Bailesh, right hand to Meisheb, revealed that the Na'tave leader had no idea that her people were actively attacking the clones. She knew, of course, that there was dispute over them, but she had not expected this.

Bailesh had assured him that the Na'tave military would be mobilized and would put a stop to the rogues. Any clones found alive would be promptly reported so that the Republic could reclaim them. Further, Meisheb understood and even condoned the Republic's withdrawal from her planet. She could not expect them to guard people who obviously did not wish to be protected.

"All nice and neat," Ahsoka commented to Anakin "Absolving herself of all responsibility,"

"Sound political strategy. Keep the people happy, and avoid provoking the Republic. You can bet we'll be back to fight here again," Anakin shook his head, sighing wearily "I hate having to rescue the same planet twice,"

Captain Rex, though present, kept his thoughts to himself. He usually did. If he was angry about what had happened to his brothers on the planet, he didn't show it. If one had looked closely, they would have detected a faint look of relief in his eyes when Anakin told the relay station that they had permission to defend themselves.

And one didn't have to listen closely to detect the same relief in the voice of the clone manning the radio at the relay station when he heard that he had permission to defend himself and his base of operations. For him, and the others in the station, life had suddenly returned to comfortable normalcy. They had no fear of danger, especially not now that they were allowed to fight back.

Curving toward the relay station, the airship swept across the same body of water Jac and the others had crossed earlier. It wasn't long before those on the airship had a clear view of the survivors below. Except they didn't look like they'd survive much longer.

They had been driven to cover by Na'tave rogues blocking their path and firing on them. The Na'taves were closing the distance because the clones were doing nothing to drive them back. Indeed, they made no move to defend themselves at all, though one had already been killed and lay in the open.

"They must not have gotten the message," Ahsoka said "Rex, tell them to fight back,"

Rex did as asked, using his radio. He got through, but his orders went flatly ignored. Even when the Na'taves came around the rock the clones had been using as cover, they did little more than back away slowly. They had weapons, but they weren't using them.

"Dammit, we're not close enough yet," Anakin fumed.

"General," Rex spoke hesitantly "they obviously won't listen to me, but.. they wouldn't dare ignore your orders. The orders of a Jedi and a General,"

"Assuming any of them would recognize my voice," Anakin sighed "I'll give it a shot," into his radio he shouted "troopers, return fire!. Defend your position!,"

There was instant reaction on the ground. A single trooper dropped to one knee and raised his rifle. His first shot was all the encouragement his brethren needed to employ their own weapons. The Na'tave rogues scattered, diving for cover.

Thirty seconds later, Anakin and Ahsoka hit the ground. The airship moved on to the relay station, and the reinforcements went with it. Seeing that they were now facing Jedi, the Na'tave rogues were quick to retreat, disappearing into the rocky forest.

"We appreciate the change of orders, General Skywalker,"

Anakin turned, and was surprised to recognize the clone who had addressed him. Though he wore a helmet and would have had the same face as any other, in life force he was unique and unmistakable. All the more so now than when Anakin had first met him, on his ill-fated first trip to the planet surface.

"Jac, wasn't it?," Anakin nodded, knowing he was right without needing confirmation.

"Sorry for ignoring your man," Jac said, not pausing to answer the question "we had orders not to fire, but there are those who would ignore those orders,"

"Not unreasonable, considering," Anakin commented dryly.

"Perhaps," Jac agreed, though his voice was carefully neutral.

"You realize the lot of you could have been killed. Should have been,"

"I'm always the lucky one," Jac sounded almost depressed by this.

Strange, Anakin thought, that he hadn't noticed it right at the start. He supposed that was probably because he hadn't been looking for it. One didn't normally take special note of every clone they happened across, and they certainly didn't see in them some purpose above and beyond that which they were supposedly designed for.

But this clone, he'd not only beaten the odds and survived, he'd done it time and again. And he seemed virtually unchanged by it all, the same clone that had saved Anakin in the desert. Without doubt, whether anybody liked it or not, and despite the plans they had, it was clear to Anakin that this clone was one to watch. He had some purpose, some role to play in the future.

It was not written down anywhere, Jac probably wasn't even aware of it himself. But, where the Force was concerned, that wasn't necessary. In spite of training and science, the Force still continued to work in whatever way it wanted. Assuming, of course, that it had any desires in the way that Anakin understood. That seemed doubtful somehow.

The Force, at times, was incomprehensible to even the greatest Jedi.

How often had Jac been in impossible situations, but things aligned just right for him to make it out alive?. The Force existed in all things, even clones. Jac may not be able to feel it or use it, but it sure seemed to take good care of him.

Anakin wondered why that was.

* * *

At the relay station, Anakin told the troopers that they were pulling out.

"We're leaving Aakaria to the Separatists?," one clone asked.

"Probably not," Anakin replied "chances are, we'll be back,"

There weren't murmurs of dissent, but there were glances which conveyed the same. The clones had fought hard for this planet, and it didn't sit well with them that they were now abandoning it. They understood even less why it would later be asked of them to come and fight again. The whole point of outposts was to prevent Separatists from getting a foothold on planets. It was hard to drive them off once they were established. Sometimes it was even impossible.

"We're pulling out," Anakin said "I want everything at this station packed up and ready to go by tomorrow morning, when the airship comes back,"

"Sir, we still have men out there. If you won't be needing me, I'd like to take a few men to go and look for them," Jac spoke up.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," Anakin shook his head regretfully.

The Clone's eyes fell, but he didn't ask why. Anakin told him anyway.

"Aside from the political tension going on, you're being reassigned,"

"Sir?,"

"Bailesh, right hand to Meisheb, is conducting a search for both rogues and clone survivors, but any search parties from our side could easily cause an incident. One we don't want any part of. Aside from which, Meisheb has requested a meeting with an ambassador for the Republic. She requested you, specifically, to accompany them,"

"Yes sir," Jac said, but he still looked bewildered.

"It seems you've made a big impression on Her Majesty," Anakin commented.

"I don't see how, Sir. We only met the once,"

"Maybe you can ask her while you're there. In any case, you're shipping out right away,"

* * *

Politics. Jac hated it. He'd come to despise the word to the extent that even thinking about it caused him to grit his teeth. A clone trooper had no business being near diplomats. It created an awkward situation, and one which made him supremely uncomfortable. He knew a wrong movement, a poor word choice or bad timing could result in terrible consequences. Trouble was, he didn't know which of these would do what. He wasn't good at making impressions. It wasn't in his job description and had certainly never been a part of his training.

But, as always, he did as the orders from "on high" told him, throwing himself into his work with his whole being, and never letting on when the work felt too difficult. All he could do was his duty as he understood it. That had carried him thus far, there was no reason to think that would change now.


	19. Part 7: Nothing But the Truth 1

The Clone found himself once more in the uncomfortable situation of being the object of close examination by those in power. He felt as though he were being punished for something, though this was hardly the case at all.

The Na'tave Majesty, Meisheb, had heard much of The Clone's exploits on her world. She had spoken to many Jedi and senators, heard many tales. She had actually taken special interest in The Clone when they had first met, when he had refused to deny what he knew to be true, even under penalty of execution. His honesty, loyalty and courage were notable to her, and she had asked about him at every opportunity since that day.

Her reasons were, of course, her own. Na'taves were cat-like, and therefor intensely reserved, keeping their thoughts very much to themselves. As a white Na'tave, Meisheb stood out as wrathful, though her time as a ruler had proven that she was also fair and very careful at whom her fury was directed. She was a reasonable creature, with the good sense to know that a little inconvenience was preferable to outright slavery and/or utter extinction.

It was she who had made the agreement to let the Republic mine the ore of her world. And now it was she who recommended that they leave, before rogue sects of Aakaria decided to take matters into their own hands. That had already happened once, and she would not permit it to happen again.

She knew that her people could not fight off the Separatists alone, that they needed Republic troops. And she knew that she must keep political channels open and friendly accomplish this end. Thus, she did the less than obvious thing: she told the Republic to pull out.

But she also requested a meeting with a senator to discuss the situation. This had been agreed to, as had her rather unusual request that the senator be accompanied by a clone. And not just any clone. Jac specifically.

The senator, Padmé Amidala was seated across from Meisheb, Jac standing behind her. It was evident that Her Majesty was looking past Padmé, and making careful visual examination of The Clone, who did his best not to shift under her piercing indigo gaze.

When Padmé ceased speaking, Meisheb turned her eyes on the senator. The Na'tave Majesty kept her face carefully neutral, the delicate features of her white face conveying gravity and dignity in equal measures. There was a period of silence before she spoke.

"You recall that on your last visit, the former Majesty, Forsooth was overthrown?,"

"Yes, I do," Padmé remembered all too well.

If not for Jac's warning and Meisheb's persistence in seeking the truth, both she and another senator would have most likely lost their lives.

"I did not kill him then because there were many who would seek to avenge his death," Meisheb said quietly "and because I haven't the stomach to tear the throat of an elder,"

"I understand," Padmé told her when she paused for a thoughtful moment.

"My decision was, perhaps, the wrong one," Meisheb went on as though Padmé hadn't spoken "due to his political connections, I was unable to keep Forsooth incarcerated. He was released recently, and I fear that he will attempt to regain his former glory,"

"You must know that we cannot interfere in the internal matters of your people," Padmé said carefully.

"You misjudge me, Senator Amidala. I do not seek your aid, but something far more important,"

"Oh?,"

"Forsooth is a proud Na'tave. He is not evil, though it must seem that way to you. He wants only to protect his people. Yet the time may come when he manages to destroy me and those who stand with me. The time will come when the Separatists, realizing you are gone, may return. If that happens, our people stand no chance. For the sake of his people, Forsooth will be forced to request Republic aid,"

Here she paused again, her eyes flicking to look at Jac, who stood impassive, yet listening carefully to every word, even though much of it was beyond him as it was deeply mired in politics.

"You may be disinclined to answer his call, but I plead with you now to help our people. He would not turn on you a second time, not seeing what he has. I do not want my people to suffer for his mistakes. Or for mine,"

"Yet you ask troops to withdraw now, knowing that the Separatists will return if they pull out?,"

"My people do not understand that they are here for our protection. And people are quick to forget. Though to you and I the Separatist occupation of Aakaria was not long ago, to the general populace it has been a lifetime. They turn their anger at their political impotence, and rage of their wounded pride on your troops. I would not ask you to defend such people as would kill their protectors,"

Meisheb paused again, blinking slowly. There was graceful element to even so simple an action, and when her eyes opened again, she was once more looking at Jac. Before she spoke again, she returned her gaze to Padmé.

"I realize this request is out of the ordinary, and that there are many worlds which require aid. But surely you understand my reasons. I love my people, Senator, more than they will ever know or believe. Right now, they seem to believe I despise them and want to make their lives difficult,"

"Politics has a way of clouding the truth,"

"That is why I requested your clone trooper to come,"

"I don't understand,"

Jac didn't either. He did his best not to look surprised.

"I have called for a meeting this afternoon. There will be many people there, people from a number of villages, who have the trust and respect of the people. They will not hear me, for I stand to gain much from securing their favor. They will not listen to you, for your own carefully chosen words would betray you as a diplomat. But I feel that an appeal must be made, to try and get the people to understand the danger. It would be easier for all concerned if Republic troops could remain here, secure in the knowledge that the Na'tave people would not attack them. Easier than trying to get you to return when the Separatist army takes hold,"

"If it pleases Your Majesty, I don't follow," Jac spoke for the first time, obviously hesitant.

"I want you, Jac, to speak to my people. You who have seen our planet, our people, and our enemy first hand. You who cannot be swayed by threats, and who have nothing to gain personally from our allegiance. You, Jac, are the only chance we have of averting the devastation of being taken over by the Separatist regime a second time,"

"I'm no public speaker," Jac told her uneasily "I wouldn't know what to say,"

"You must say only what you believe. If you are honest with them, I'm sure my people will hear you,"

"I must speak with the senate about this," Padmé said "this is very unusual,"

"I understand. In the meantime, I have arranged rooms for yourself and Jac. Come," she nodded graciously, arising from her seat effortlessly "I will show you to them,"

* * *

Jac had, almost literally, been all over the globe. He'd seen much of Aakaria, from burning desert to freezing caves to temperate rain forests. He'd fought alongside the Na'taves, and against them as well. He'd met much of the planet's wildlife, and somehow managed to impress Her Majesty. The one thing he had never seen was the hospitality of the Na'taves.

As a ground troop, he was used to sleeping in the dirt with his helmet for a pillow. The fact was, he'd probably be more comfortable there than here. The so-called room was actually split into three by beaded curtains. A bathroom, bedroom and main room. The last was equipped with a sofa on one side, table and chairs on the other. Guests were clearly intended to stay here long enough to take sleep, meals, visitors and full-on baths.

Clones were not renowned for their cleanliness, primarily because the opportunity to bathe rarely presented itself. Jac did take the time to bathe, but avoided the large tub in favor of the shower. The tub seemed big enough to swim in and was lined with flower petals and scented candles. Jac wondered vaguely what those were good for. He also failed to use the temperature controls for the shower, taking the water in its natural state. It was entirely possible he didn't know he could do otherwise.

For lack of anything better to do, he spent some time cleaning and checking his equipment. After taking the time to test the water (he did this before his shower as well), he filled his canteen. Who knew when he would next have ready access to water?.

Having done all this, he wasn't sure what to do next.

He wandered into the bedroom (the bed was about the size of a bantha, he decided), choosing the couch positioned at the foot of the bed over the bed itself. The couch was similar to the cot he'd had during his training, though softer.

Like most clones, Jac's response to free time was to replenish his supplies, clean his gear and nap. These were luxuries to clones, who seldom had time for any of that in the field. They maintained their equipment, but couldn't be super thorough about it. Not like when they had time to kill.

As he drifted off to sleep, Jac wondered what the senate would have to say about Meisheb's proposal. He wondered also what he could say to the Na'taves if he were called upon to speak.

* * *

Jac was awakened a couple of hours later by someone at the door. Unaccustomed as he was to having a room of his own, or having anyone knock on the door, it took him a number of seconds to realize that he was meant to answer.

"Come in," he could have opened the door, but preferred to maintain his distance from it, lest the one visiting prove to be unfriendly.

Even first thing on waking up, his thoughts were focused single-mindedly on survival.

The door slid aside to reveal a small, fluffy gray Na'tave with very black whiskers. Not even fully grown, this one, but dressed in a kind of uniform nevertheless.

"Her Majesty requests that you dine with her this evening," the kitten said, her over-sized paw-like hands working nervously.

She worked as an attendant for Meisheb. Having lost both her parents, it was the only way she could support herself. Being distantly related to Bailesh had brought her plight to Meisheb's attention. Still possessed of soft kitten fur, she was intimidated and enthralled by her adult peers, and downright terrified of the strange people of the Republic.

"And senator Amidala?," Jac asked hopefully.

If she were to appear as well, that made life much less complicated for him. If he were asked to appear alone, he must try to weigh the pros and cons and decide if it would be best for him to accept or decline. His own wishes he thought nothing at all of, for it was his desire to remain here and avoid any potential breach of protocol.

"Her ladyship," common Na'taves referred to virtually all female foreigners as such "says she feels ill, and is unable to attend,"

"I must speak with her," Jac said "if she has no objection, then I'll come,"

"As you say," the kitten bent her head politely "I shall accompany you to her door,"

Jac reflexively picked up his helmet and rifle, carrying the former under his arm and the latter in his right hand. The kitten's pale green eyes widened at sight of the weapon and she stepped well back. Jac thought it odd that his gun should inspire such fear when carried in the nonthreatening manner he now held it in, one handed and with muzzle pointed down.

Little did he know that the kitten understood only that this was a weapon. She knew not how it worked, as such weapons had not been a part of her formal education up to this point.

Down the hall, Jac knocked at Padmé's door. She opened it and Jac related what he'd been told to her. He secretly hoped she would object, as then he would have grounds to decline. But she did nothing of the kind, confirming that she did indeed feel poorly, she was not acclimated to the climate.

It was with quiet resignation that Jac turned to the kitten and allowed her to lead him to the dining hall of Meisheb, which was virtually deserted save for the serving staff.

"Greetings," Meisheb said gesturing to a place at her side "be seated, please. I had hoped to speak with you alone. I am only sorry it is at cost of Senator Amidala's health,"


	20. Part 7: Nothing But the Truth 2

"I am given to understand that you must test food before you consume it, that it is required by your training. Please, do so. I will not be offended," Meisheb purred.

Her eyes were half-closed and it seemed that she was enjoying herself immensely. She couldn't help it. It was funny to her, that such a hard and courageous being would find himself uncomfortable and smelling, not of fear, but something which was distant kin to it, here at her table.

The Clone was afraid of her. That was funny, but also sad. He had no reason to fear her. In her eyes, he was just another being, no more a representative of his people than Avella, the attendant who had brought Jac here. One did not judge a people by its soldiers or servants. A far better measure was how those people were treated. It was this that now interested Meisheb.

While there was nothing Jac could do or say which would offend her, there were things he could tell her, which a politician such as Senator Amidala would never speak of, which might reveal more about the Republic and its people. Meisheb knew it would be a delicate matter to extract information from The Clone. She did not want to interrogate him, she was not looking to make enemies or to endanger the Republic in any way. But she was looking for answers to questions which had plagued her from the moment she first met this particular clone.

She watched with pointed interest while The Clone tested the food, and then proceeded to eat. He was a bit unmannerly by Meisheb's standards, but that was to be expected. Not only was he of a different world and culture, he was of what might be termed as "low breeding", which had far more to do with environment and training than genetics.

"May I inquire as to the reason for such tests?," Meisheb knew, of course, but she wanted to hear Jac's answer, what he thought about it.

"Well, if your supplies run out in the field and you need to find food, better to test the resources around you before you eat them. When you live all your life on one world, I guess you can recognize poisonous plants from edible ones, but when you hop from planet to planet like we do, there's not much time for that sort of thing,"

"Indeed," Meisheb replied "and I suppose that strangers might attempt to poison unsuspecting troops as well, if they chose to align themselves with Separatists,"

Jac didn't answer. Meisheb didn't expect him to. Though her words were true, by confirming it Jac feared that he would imply that he did not trust her, as he had tested the food she had offered. Meisheb knew he was simply conforming to training, or at the very least using sound judgment. He was not so familiar with her as she was with him.

When one held the rank that Meisheb did, one had to closely study all potential allies and enemies, to learn their habits, culture and technology, among other things. And Jac she had special interest in.

"Understand that, if a diplomat or politician refuses to comment, they are generally thought of as having pleaded guilty to whatever the charge might be. Not so with a soldier," Meisheb commented "everyone knows that the soldier is forbidden from speaking on a number of topics,"

"Thanks for your understanding," Jac said quietly.

"However, I do have questions. I am perhaps too curious for my own good,"

"I'll answer what I can," Jac replied guardedly.

"I have been told that your kind, clones, are artificially created, raised and trained to fight in this war. And I wonder, what happens if a clone is too badly injured or too old to return to battle?,"

"I'm sure there's a procedure in place,"

"You mean, you don't know what happens to them?,"

"I mean that I've never heard of it happening. Once deployed, we clones don't have a very good survival rate. Simply put, we don't expect to survive any battle we enter in to,"

Meisheb absorbed this, carefully hiding her reaction behind a professionally placid expression.

"You have no home to return to when you've served your entire life?,"

"We like to think of Kamino as our home-world, if that's what you mean,"

"But you're hardly Kaminoan," Meisheb said "I've never met one personally, but I have read a small amount about them. You do not fit the description, nor do you appear suited to a world of water,"

"That's true enough," Jac replied, recalling the difficult time the clones had crossing a body of water here on Aakaria "and no, we're not Kaminoans,"

"And yet you would consider it your home?,"

"It's where I was born and where I trained. It's where my young brothers are training now,"

"Brothers?," Meisheb twitched an ear.

"It's a term we clones use for one another," Jac said "for all practical purposes, we are brothers. I suppose that's not very scientific,"

Meisheb's whiskers fluttered with amusement. It certainly was not scientific. But Jac wasn't meant to be a scientist, and neither were his 'brothers'.

"It's a nice term," Meisheb told him "one of endearment,"

_One I wouldn't have expected a clone to think up_. But she did not say this.

It was becoming very apparent to her that the clones she had heard tell of, and the clones which really were had little in common. Warriors they might be, but there was clearly a softer side to them. One which was never spoken of, nor probably even thought about.

_The Separatists may have crueler intentions than the Republic, but at least they use droids to fight their battles rather than living beings._

"If one of your brothers chose not to fight...," Meisheb spoke slowly enough for Jac to finish for her.

"We don't tolerate deserters," Jac replied, a touch more fiercely than he meant to.

"You would kill a clone who left your ranks?,"

"We'd turn them in," Jac corrected "what happened after that wouldn't be up to us,"

_And yet you call them 'brothers'._

"Could a trooper request to be let go?,"

"I wouldn't expect so," Jac said "I've never heard of anybody doing that. We do the job we were trained for. It's all we know how to do. It's the only thing we know how to be,"

"Except for your deserters,"

Jac didn't rise to the bait. Meisheb couldn't help but be impressed. While he claimed to have no understanding of politics, he sure knew when he was being baited. Meisheb decided it was time to pursue some other aspect of this topic.

"I have been told that when the rogues attacked you, you did not fight back,"

"We had our orders," Jac explained.

"And your orders were so important that you were willing to die?,"

"It's what we were created for,"

"To die?,"

"To follow orders,"

"I see,"

Strangely, as The Clone became more comfortable, Meisheb was made increasingly uncomfortable. He spoke so calmly and very earnestly, but there was much contradiction in what he said. His steady gaze betrayed that he was actually aware of it, his eyes seemed to unfocus when he was repeating something drilled into his head and became all the clearer when he said what he truly believed.

_He knows it's not right, but can't admit it, even to himself._

At last, Meisheb understood the cause of her discomfort. With every answer Jac gave, Meisheb felt more repulsed by the Republic. She began to wonder why that was. But she had already discovered why she suddenly felt very nearly ill.

She had know all of this, all along, on some level. But she had never bothered to think about it. And she had, in fact, been condoning it. She had even planned to perpetuate it by asking the Republic to come and fight for her world again.

"I have but one final question, then you may go,"

She paused, but Jac didn't encourage her to go on, though he sat attentively.

"Aside from your orders, is there any reason for you to defend other worlds?. They are not your home. You have no family aside from your brothers. From what I understand, you're not even allowed to consider the possibility. You have no future as a race under the current conditions you work in,"

"I don't understand,"

"Why do you fight?,"

Jac took his time answering. There were a million dogmatic things he could say, but he knew Meisheb wouldn't believe anything which sounded like it was recited from a memorized speech. Besides, none of it was true. It wasn't for personal honor, or the glory of the Republic. It had nothing to do with any of that. Nor was it for the appreciation of the rescued people, or praise from superiors. It was something far simpler, and much less glamorous. Something which he'd never been taught, but somehow knew innately, as surely as he knew anything.

"Because, best I can tell, it's the right thing to do,"

In the heat of battle, Jac often forgot his own safety in favor of the brother beside him. Beyond that, these worlds were composed of families with women and children, innocents in a war which made no sense, least of all to the people in it. It was in defending the helpless that he found his truest purpose.

Who won or lost in the end, and what policies they chose to support were all things very much out of his hands. But he was a ground trooper, whose sole mission it was to drive out Separatist troops. Though he could not speak to the future, he could do everything in his power to try and save those who would later give that future shape.

This he did not try to explain, for he had never thought it through enough to give words to it. For him, it simply was.

"Thank you, Jac. It has been a most enlightening evening," Meisheb said, arising "in the morning, I intend for you to join my guards in the field who are searching for any of your brothers who survived the attack by the rogues,"

"But-,"

"I insist upon it, just as I insisted you come here. If your superiors have a problem with that, they may speak with me about it,"

"I'll have to get permission anyway,"

"As you wish. Know also that I don't expect your services as a speaker to be needed,"

"May I ask: why not?,"

"You have told me a great deal this evening. But the most important thing was that which you did not say," at this Jac looked even more confused, but Meisheb went on without pause "a government is best judged by how it treats its people,"

This didn't clear anything up for Jac, but he waited politely for her to finish.

"And the Republic treats its people badly,"

"If you mean us clones, your Majesty, you shouldn't worry. We are what we are, and we do what we were created to do. We're hardly worth considering,"

"That is your Republic speaking," Meisheb said, her voice hard. Then it softened and she smiled slightly as she added "your courage under fire and loyalty to your brothers says that you are people. Though you did not speak of it, I could hear in your voice, and see in your eyes, that you did not wish to be here. You wanted to be searching for your missing brothers. To rescue your injured and bury your dead. You may rest assured that not another clone will die for Aakaria. Not while I still live,"


	21. Part 7: Nothing But the Truth 3

"You must understand, Senator, that I do not make this decision lightly or with haste. I bear your Republic no ill-will, but I can neither condone nor support that which it would stand for,"

"I don't understand," Padmé said "yesterday, you were asking for aid. What changed your mind?,"

"A conversation with your clone trooper. And," Meisheb added with a sigh "a closer examination of Forsooth's standing on the matter,"

"I see," Padmé's tone said that she did not.

"I am not angry with the Republic. It is such an easy thing, to corrupt your own beliefs, blinding yourself to what is truly happening simply because you are desperate,"

Padmé said nothing this time, giving no encouragement, but Her Majesty went on without it.

"I was afraid for my people, and saw the Republic as their savior. I... chose... not to look too closely at the army, at the people, who would have to die for my own,"

"This is about the clones. But I don't understand what they have to do with-,"

"The people of the Republic hide in their homes, your Senators- I don't mean you specifically -in their hallowed halls, passing judgments and giving orders to people they don't understand, and don't even think of as being living things. Oh, I understand the allure. Clones are smarter than droids by far, able to think and act tactically without requiring orders from on high. And therein lies the problem,"

She paused to take a deep breath, and then went on

"It is not the cause of your war I find fault with. It is your methods. Though defending the innocent may seem just, the people you use for that defense are worse than slaves. You don't merely ask them to work for you, you ask them to die for you. You expect them to do so, and grant them no alternative save death by your hands. Not yours, specifically, but your Republic,"

"The people the army of the Republic defend are-,"

"Simple farmers?. Innocent bystanders?. Helpless dependents?. I say no. Rescuing them in the first place, that makes sense. But after that, have them join your army. Have them defend themselves. It is easy to commit to an endless and bloody war when neither side cares about their own casualties!.

"You tell me that your clones are superior to droids because they can think. Have you stopped to realize that they also can feel?. They do not weep over their dead, they do not complain of their lot, which makes them far better than you or I. They take their condition as a matter of course, and go on without reflection or regret. We could take a lesson from that, a lesson in being content with whatever state you happen to find yourself in,"

"Majesty Meisheb, I-,"

"You will hear me until I have finished," Meisheb snarled, tail switching and a ridge of white fur rising along the back of her neck "for I have much to say which you, and those you side with, would do well to consider before it is too late.

"I say again that it is not your war, it is your chosen army. Your people hide like cowards, saying that they can't fight back or that their beliefs prohibit defending themselves when the reality is that they are too afraid of shedding their own blood. I was nearly ready to do this, myself. I was so eager to find a way not to endanger my people that I very nearly neglected to consider those who would die in their stead.

"Forsooth was right: Aakaria wants no part of your people or the Separatists. I still feel that the actions he took were wrong, and that he blamed the wrong party. He blames your troops, I blame the people who send them to die,"

At last, she seemed to have said all she had to say and fell silent.

"I'm afraid I still don't understand,"

"Speak to one of your clones. Speak to a hundred of them. They think, they feel. They bleed and they die. Through it all, they are not only brave and loyal, but also humble and relatively content. Except for the ones who see the hypocrisy of this war and find themselves unable to bear that burden in addition to all their others. The Separatists wish to oppress all, but the Republic does its share of the same, even while it claims otherwise. Those few clones who realize this can see no reason for your bloody war, or why they should participate. They are called deserters, even by those of their own kind. You should count yourself lucky,"

"Why?,"

"The clone who once saved your life here on this very world knows that this war of yours knows no reason, that he fights for no cause. But he has the wisdom to realize that, if only for a moment, he can protect the truest innocents of the Galaxy. The children. The future,"

* * *

For the next thirty days, Jac participated in the search for survivors. He found more dead than alive, and buried many. In all that time, he did not work with any other clones, only with Na'taves. Yet again, a strange situation for which he had no training.

But he found the Na'taves to be reliable, even in heated situations. On more than one occasion, survivors had to be liberated from rogue camps. Here, the Na'taves showed no hesitation in fighting against their own kind to rescue those who had been imprisoned unjustly.

He never did find Sergeant Flame. He did find Dusty, killed in action. He suspected that the Sergeant had, in fact, deserted. That was a shame. A man of such experience should have known better. How many rookies could have benefited from his leadership?. How many would now die because they were denied it?. Jac left these questions at Dusty's grave, moving on because he knew no other way.

Aside from the Sergeant, all other clones were found, dead or alive, the living returned to the army, the dead buried where they were found.

After that, Jac was reunited with Senator Amidala, who had spent the same time having extended conversations with Majesty Meisheb, who had in that time located and formed a truce with Forsooth.

Meisheb was determined to raise her own army, and teach her people to defend themselves. She said that it was likely that they would be conquered, but she had no desire to seek help from any who did not wish to give it. Had the clones volunteered for military service, she said, things would be quite different. Then it would have been their choice at some point.

She had given Padmé much to think about.

Anakin had arrange to be on the ship that retrieved the Senator and her single clone escort, for reasons The Clone would obviously never know. He (Anakin) happened to disagree with Meisheb, but that was no surprise. Even so, he admitted to himself that perhaps this was part of the purpose Jac had.

Maybe it had been the work of the Force that Aakaria closed negotiations with the Republic and refused to support their cause with the ore. It had no value to the Na'taves, but Meisheb said that she would not perpetuate the war anymore than she already had.

* * *

"The Force sure cares for you," Anakin observed to Jac.

"Sir?,"

"Don't tell me you've never thought about it," Anakin pressed "in all the dangerous and impossible situations you've been in, you've never once wondered if something might be protecting you?,"

"I can't say as I have, Sir,"

"One escape from an impossible situation is luck. Two, coincidence. Three... something else is at work," Anakin said matter-of-factly.

"I don't follow, Sir,"

"You have a purpose. At first, I thought maybe what you did on Aakaria was it, but I was wrong. You are destined to have an impact on the future, and this war. I don't know how, but I can sense it,"

"With respect, Sir, I can't believe that,"

"Why not?,"

"Because I'm just a clone. Same as all the others,"

"Really?. Well, we'll see. We'll see,"

"As you say, Sir,"

* * *

_A/N: Some have questioned Jac's lack of promotion. To be perfectly honest, the original brain storming was just generally about clones and the campaign for Aakaria. It was later arranged to be about a single clone, Jac. It honestly never occurred to me to promote him. In a way, I think it's fitting that he should go without promotion, considering the underlying story that is being told.  
_

_There were also various questions and statements concerning a variety of characters in the _Star Wars _universe whom I know nothing about. I direct you to my first author's note, where I stated that my knowledge of this universe is relatively little._

_As you may have guessed from a few loose ends in the various parts of the story, I'm not through with Jac. When I finished up this story, I thought I was tired of writing about him. Turns out, not so much. I'm presently working on another story about him, this time with a bit more intent (maybe) and very slightly more knowledge of the universe I'm writing in (not a lot, but a little). I'm maybe about halfway through it.  
_

_It may interest some of you to know that the name "Reg Olith" is actually the splitting of the word "Regolith". This was because that's what I was reading about at the time and I couldn't think of a name for my character._

_Also on the subject of names, Jac did not originally have a name. Even when the story was being arranged to be about a single clone, he was just The Clone. The reason for this is that I have a terrible time with numbers and elected not to ever state his designation to the readers. This was also because it seemed unlikely somehow for him to think of himself in terms of numbers. By the end of chapter one, I was sick to death of writing "The Clone" and had realized that he was liable to have contact with other clones and that was bound to be confusing. The name came, quite literally, from the story's title. I thought of all kinds of clone-like names, but they were too much of the "nickname" variety (Boomer, Striker etc., though these are not the specific names I thought of). For the purposes of the story, it seemed proper for The Clone to have an actual name. I thought of things like Sam and Toby and Joe and they were all too strong in name. They gave him a too-human feel, like actual parents had named him. I don't think my striking on Jac was accidental. I think that was always his name, I just didn't know it. It was perfect. It was a real name, but the spelling and origin of it seemed very clone-like. I had no second thoughts and considered no other names._

_Thank you kindly for reading (and reviewing), hope y'all enjoyed it and I hope to see you next time._


End file.
